Stuck at Cortlandt Street Station

Two weeks ago, while in NYC, I was on the subway traveling from Brooklyn to Manhattan. I found myself riding into and stopping at Cortlandt Street station on an R train, in Lower Manhattan. It is located just underneath the World Trade Center site, now heavily under construction. Seems innocuous enough, unless you lived through 9/11, and have not been back to NYC in a couple of years, like myself. On the last NYC subway map I own, ca. 2004, it still shows parts of Cortlandt Street station “temporarily closed,” while trains rushed through on a rapidly-repaired center track. On the R line, the southbound station was hastily restored within the first months after 9/11, to quickly reinstate service. Northbound service was diverted. Since I lived in Astoria, Queens, the N and R was directly affected from day 1, and impacted daily life for 3 years.

After I left NYC in 2004, major work was done on Cortlandt Street station. The northbound platform was completely refurbished and reopened. The southbound side is now closed, and is in the midst of reconstruction. Everything was stripped down, and now shows the injuries of 2001.

As I was standing in the train and looking out onto the southbound side, I was looking out on destruction. Buckled metal beams, collapsed walls, boarded up entrances and exits, heavy moving equipment—evidence that work was indeed being carried out. I became thoroughly confused, suddenly agitated. I forgot what day and time it was. Memories came flooding back once again. I thought I could smell dust. Panic paralyzed me, and I could not breathe.

This has been my life for almost 2 years.

I freak out at planes, particularly military jets. I freak out at cops with machine guns and dogs on trains and in stations. If I now see images of 9/11, the memories are too overwhelming and I risk flashbacks. I dissociate from the present moment a good part of the day, trying not to feel into the fear, panic and anger. It’s like someone needs to sew my mind and body back together. I lose track of time; I commonly lose track of the day. Events during the day move in slow motion, yet it’s still difficult for me to keep up with what’s going on. The panic and depression has been severe enough to send me into a psychiatric outpatient program. My sleep is rarely peaceful, as I have come to expect the nightly barrage of 9/11-related nightmares.

A couple of theories are being floated for the cause of the delayed onset of the severe PTSD that now runs my life. There are studies out there showing that many New Yorkers have experienced this phenomenon of delayed onset PTSD (http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/08/04/study-finds-post-traumatic-stress-from-911-increasing/?scp=1&sq=ptsd%209/11&st=cse). However, in my specific case, the more likely theory is the preoccupation with the injury and rehabilitation within the first 3 years, combined with eight years of self-medication, that feasibly numbed me out enough to also numb out any and all PTSD symptoms. Then I decided to get sober. Sobriety=functioning brain. Functioning brain=active PTSD.

I remember when the symptoms first started emerging. I thought I was going insane. Luckily I had the right people around me, to assure me that, no, it’s not insanity per se. I’m just starting to experience something that I probably would have gone through almost 8-10 years ago, had the circumstances been different. But no, God has chosen now.

Next stop, Stanford University.