Estee's Blog

It has been one year since I've been able to open up to the world and express any kind of sentiment. I became aware of this only yesterday when I decided to change my automated message and record a personal message on my cell phone. When I heard my voice on my last recording I was blown away. It was the day my mother and I were evacuating from Hurricane Gustav, one year ago. I could hear the stress in my voice, and I guess after that I was done. I shut myself off and could have nothing more to do with hurricanes. I could not think about it, talk about it, listen, or watch anything more. And for one year now, I have been running away from my own thoughts of everything I experienced after Katrina. I cringe when people talk about Katrina. My stomach turns and a wave of images flood my mind. And if I voice those images or emotions, the horror of it all comes pouring out and washes across everyone in the room. It still lies just beneath the surface of my skin. When I close my eyes at night, the movie plays on the back of my eyelids like it's being projected onto a screen. If I don't get those thoughts out of my mind quickly, I am swept away with sadness and tears. Each time I go back to 968 Lane Street and I look around like I am Goggle Earth. I look at each angle and record the image, and then move on to the next angle, making sure I document it all. From across the street John and Eleanor's beautiful home fades out into an empty sandy lot, like it never existed. And just beyond that empty lot, the elderly neighbor, that has lived there my whole life, drowns in her attack. I can see the water coming up and feel her panic, and then it changes to mold. Black mold that sticks to the back of my throat and I can't breathe. This is where I generally lose it, and from there the movie plays fast-forward like some Oliver Stone montage of death and destruction. I'd rather not go any deeper than that right now. As the anniversary approaches the subject is unavoidable. I can hide from it or I can try to let it out. I feel very exposed writing about this stuff and posting it for everyone to read. It's been fours years and I am still deeply affected by that event. I have an overwhelming story to tell. I am sitting one foot away from 300 hours of footage. I don't know what it's going to take for me to crack open this wound. My teacher called it my "in." I need to find the "in" to my story, and I figured this was as good a place to start as any. The struggle continues for many people. I wish it could all go away, be healed, and people could get their lives back. I'd like mine back. I am older; it's plain to see. The before- and-after pictures of myself are very telling. Stress is a bitch and trauma is unhealthy. So, I am going to switch gears now, clean my kitchen, and be very grateful that I have a safe, and wonderful place to live. California is my new home, and I am happy to be here.