Holding onto September 11th

On September 11, 2001 I commuted to class enjoying the comfort of my morning schedule. It was a beautiful day with the sky a lovely shade of blue with puffy white clouds. In fact, I was completely ignorant as to what was going on less than 30 miles from my campus. While I sat in class busily taking notes on Machiavelli, terrorist hijackers were crashing planes into the World Trade Center. My peace of mind was shattered when a professor came running into our classroom and told us, “The United States is under attack two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center.” My thoughts left the lecture subject, fearfully jumping to my father, who worked in Tower 2 of the Center. I rushed out of the classroom while trying on my cell phone to contact him, my mother, and my sister. I got into my car as quickly as possible, hitting redial on my cell phone, I dis-

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covered I could not get in touch with anyone in my family. Busy signal was followed by infuriating busy signal. Though I did not realize it at the time, the telephone lines were overloaded with people like me desperately trying to establish that their loved ones were not hurt in the terrorist attack.

While trying to reach family, I prayed that someone would pick up. I sped down Route 17 South toward home. Directly in front of me, instead of the usual beautiful view of the Manhattan skyline, was an enormous, dark cloud of smoke.

Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, I heard a ring on the other end of the phone. My mother, hysterically crying into the phone, managed to tell me that she had heard from my father who had called from a payphone after escaping from the burning building. Only then did I begin to cry.

About a year later, I developed a phobia of classrooms. Sitting in a classroom would within seconds throw me into a state of panic. I began to feel trapped, had a rapid heartbeat, and difficulty breathing. Such an acute state of fear possessed me that I felt I had to leave the room immediately. To stop the panic attacks I would flee from class. Everyday for the next week I drove to campus, parked my car, walked into the building and sat down in class. But before my professor would even arrive, I would walk right back out the door and back to my car. The following week, once I arrived on campus I could not even bring myself to step out of my car. In my own solitary capsule I would sit, crying uncontrollably. After a while, even the thought of classrooms, would instantly trigger a panic attack. I became phobic of them, because that is where I had been during the attacks that could have taken my father’s life.

These attacks were endangering my education. I am an extremely serious student who values the opportunity to attend college. Nevertheless, in October, 2002 I had dropped all of my classes. I had been a psychology major with a 3.5 GPA, and had hopes of attending New York University. Instead, I turned into a nervous wreck; sitting alone all day in my room loathing myself. My life felt worthless. I blamed myself for not being able to attend class and became incredibly depressed. My doctor advised me to begin seeing a therapist.

After seeing three different therapists, I was diagnosed with panic attacks, social anxiety disorder, and depression. The therapists diagnosed my anxiety disorders as stemming from my experience as a college student during the September 11^th terrorist attacks.

After much intensive therapy and several medications to control my disorders, I was finally able to get myself back to college. Now, I must sit next to the door in each of my classes to help me feel less trapped. To help cope, I learned breathing exercises which are useful in soothing my otherwise uncontrollable nerves. I have registered with Special Services so that I have a college counselor I can talk to when I feel anxious. In a psychohistory class I wrote a paper on emotional reactions to 9/11. Nevertheless, classrooms still produce great anxiety for me and at times panic attacks. Thankfully, I have learned not to let them control me, but to instead control them.

Why am I “panicking” over September 11^th? Could it be related to the panic attacks that plagued my father as long as I remember? Though I love my mother, I feel for my father especially when he is put down. I know I identify with my father; could it be that I identify with his panic? After all, it was fear for his safety that first came to mind when I heard of the terrorist attacks of September 11^th. Though at the present time I have more questions than answers, I am thankful that I am once again a successful student who is on the road to greater understanding of my problems and control over my life.

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