It's Not You It's Me

For some reason I don’t post about 9/11 anymore. I couldn’t figure it out at first, but last week a repressed memory escaped to the forefront of my mind.

East Side Middle School, that morning we were sat down in the auditorium and told that the Twin Towers had fallen. Denise, the principal might as well been speaking gibberish, nothing she said made sense. How? She must have made a mistake. “Call your parents to come pick you up,” she ended. School was cancelled for the day. We went back to our classrooms to gather our belongings. We googled what was going on, people burst into tears. Fear permeated the room. Shortly after we were escorted to the cafeteria to wait for our parents.

I called my mom, asking if my stepdad or her could come get me, she erupted. “I have the kids I’m not leaving the house.” After I asked if she could give another parent permission to take me home, which was another option. “Listen you just gonna have to stay in school.” She said vehemently before hanging up. I didn’t understand. She was a stay at home mom. Miranda’s dad offered to take me. Why did she yell at me?

I watched, one by one, parents came to get their children. I still held out hope for my stepdad, looking around stupidly. He never came and lunch was a shit burrito I found a fingernail in. Finally 3:30pm hit and I was one of seven people left to go home. I walked through the quiet, desolate streets of New York City. Gripping my Jansport backpack straps, I make my way uptown frightened. Looking through the window of the closed pizza shop, I saw on their television the city was a code red for state of emergency. That day my heart broke twice. When I got home my stepdad and sister were already there.

My friend did a tarot reading for me this week, I asked if the person I’m see 222, 2, 222222 for is really my twin? She told me the problem is me and not them, I’m not ready because of emotional trauma. I hide due to fear.

While I had material things, I grew up in a family that was emotionally abusive. I don’t trust anyone but myself. So when my friend told me I’m the problem, it made complete sense. Now I understand why I attract emotional abusive men. It’s what I’m use to, so my subconscious emits that vibration. Knowing its my fault was hard to hear, but if I’m the problem, I’m also the solution.