And I'm just as sleep-deprived today as I was on this day last year. But much less terrified and distraught.
Last night I picked off the last of the scab on my knee from when I fell face first on the asphalt parking lot a month ago. My knees have skin on htem again.
Last year I spent most of the time period between September 11th and the beginning of January crying all day long, dragging myself to work and sitting at my desk with tears silently streaming down my face, going home and crawling into bed only to curl into a ball loudly shriek-sobbing for hours, answering the phone from an internet acquaintance in NYC who was concerned about me and crying some more.
It wouldn't have lasted that long if it had only been my parents. Last fall, all the closest and longest-lasting relationships in my life just unexpectedly and unconnectedly all shattered at once and left me suddenly with nothing but myself.
I knew that I would recover. I've lost best friends enough before to know that I always put myself back together in time. But I feel, right now, like the first green growth just returning to a vast blackened plain which one year ago was a tall ancient forest burned flat to the ground without a trace.
I would like to announce to the world that I have survived everything that it's thrown at me and I plan to continue to do so.
But also, please don't throw anything like that at me ever again.