What it’s like

Whew, some prolific blogging this morning while I read the paper in bed.
I feel oddly ashamed to feel so insecure where I live. In my CERT* class last week we delved into the subject of disaster psychology and I realized during the class that I exhibit quite a few of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Could I really be suffering from it? A year and a half after a plane carrying someone I knew flew low over my house and then slammed into the Pentagon a mile away? With fighter jets and helicopters flying over day and night, I still crane my neck to look up constantly. I get anxious when I drive, scared that I will be caught in traffic with no exit route if something happens. I feel claustrophobic when I drive under bridges and overpasses, worried that they will fall on me. And mostly, I worry that no one else feels like I do and I’m being silly or childish.
This article in the Post gives a sense of what it’s like to live here in Washington right now, in a gentle way.

The war had begun, with the dropping of bombs from America on an ancient desert city along the Tigris, and I had the luxury of casually placing my foot out the door without fear.

Or did I?

Before Sept. 11, 2001, no war had been fought on American soil since the Civil War. Since then, attack at any moment, at any time, is possible.

This is what an Iraqi mother must feel and must have felt for as long as she could remember.

* Community Emergency Response Team, which I am volunteering for on the hopes that if something happens, I can be of help.