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It was my second day of seventh grade.
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We were all speculating about what was going on, but at that point, I wasn’t afraid.
Some kids who had working radios on their portable CD players said that planes had hit the Twin Towers.
I did see a familiar mom and her son, whom I walked to school with every day.
Via Helaina Hovitz
I was covered in debris and kept forgetting to pull my shirt over my face to protect it.
We spent an hour navigating the horror, trying to get home.
When we finally made it back to our apartment building, the lobby was dark.
By Justin McCallum
People hid inside, covered in ash.
Soon the power went out, along with phones and water.
It was assumed we had been, but we hadnt.
I saw my dad the next morning, covered in a thick film of dust and sweat.
My mom had done the same.
The city faced more threats of collapsing buildings and bomb scares on nearby landmarks.
The National Guard eventually showed up in our neighborhood.
The sound of passing planes sent me into a hysterical panic.
I wasn’t sleeping.
She found me a therapist near Washington Square Park in Manhattan.
The buildings long winding hallways, numerous musty staircases, and unmarked black doors felt ominous.
I dont want to wake up in the morning, I told the doctor.
And I cant sleep at night.
Im up for hours playing things over and over.
I dont enjoy anything anymore.
I dont feel happy.
Nobody likes me for some reason.
Everyone in school is looking at me like theyre going to hurt me.
“Our bodies are designed to protect us in threat.
This could be a stalled train, a siren, someone shouting, or a specific song.
Thats a lot for a young teenager to attempt to take on.
Its also an impossible task that, for me, only ended in fear and distress.
He just said, See you next week.
And of course, there was my grandma, who needed me as much as I needed her.
She still represented unconditional love, and her health was slowly deteriorating.
My brain was working overtime, constantly doing threat assessments everywhere I went.
I was in my second semester of freshman year when I decided to reach out for help.
It gets thrown in at the end like, yeah, and this happened, Reynolds says.
I didnt know what it was or why it would work for my symptoms.
To me it just sounded like another false start.
Dr. A specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy.
Together, we built a strong foundation for me to begin coping with everyday triggers and feelings.
Right away, Dr. A helped me learn skills to repair my brains faulty rewiring and ease my anxiety.
Another skill we worked on was actively filtering, or focusing on the positives rather than the negatives.
Practicing these skills eventually becomes a working part of the brain.
She explained that, ironically, I pushed people away for fear of being hurt or abandoned.
About seven years ago, Dr. J helped me connect my major panic episodes to alcohol use.
Once I got sober, it was like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
By Justin McCallum
Image via Justin McCallum
Now, life has surpassed what it ever could have been.
Helaina Hovitz is an editor, writer, and author of the memoirAfter 9/11.
She is currently the editor of content collaborations at Upworthy/GOOD.
Shes on Twitter @HelainaHovitz, online atHelainaHovitz.com, and at Facebook.com/HelainaNHovitz.
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