I haven't had a journal, electronic or handwritten, in many years. It's just something I hadn't found time for. I loved to empty my feelings into journals though because I always found it extremely therapeutic. Over time, I just forgot about it; but on January 11th, 2013, two and a half months after Superstorm Sandy (also known as Hurricane Sandy) destroyed my home, I needed an outlet for all that pain. The following one-time journal entry was the result:
Home
January 11th, 2013
It’s funny how certain words have so much emotion tied to them. Like the word home, for example. Home means something different to everyone, but I think for most, home is a sense of security. It’s where you can be yourself without having to answer for it. It’s the happy ending to a long, tiring day of work and travel. Home is internal, not to be confused with house, and it is comfort and belonging. At least, that’s what home has always been to me. So when you lose that, when it is taken away so violently, it feels like a violation of the worst kind. It’s a mental and physical violation, but worse yet, it’s a violation of the soul.
A house is external. It’s brick, stone, or wood and other materials built into a structure to house lives within. It’s tangible. A home isn’t tangible. A home is the life that is made within a house, and it is personal and unique to each individual. As a person who loves being home, I can’t adequately describe the pain of losing one. It’s beyond words, beyond belief. It feels like the world has changed and nothing in it is quite right anymore.
I had always been afraid of fire. I would hear of houses burning down, of people losing everything, and think “God, I hope that never happens to me”. I would think about what I would grab from my apartment if a fire broke out. What treasures meant the most to me? I always said I would grab my pictures and my favorite doll from my childhood. That was what I would most want. When something actually happens to your house though, you aren’t expecting it. It comes out of absolutely nowhere, and you may not react the way you’d expect. You may just jump up and run for your life in a state of sheer panic. You may spend extra time grabbing everything you can, even endangering your own life to save your past.
It has only been two and a half months since I lost my home and almost every single possession I have ever had but already I know, I am never going to forget the sight of water seeping under my wall, invading my home. I am never going to forget the panic inside as I tried to move things off of the floor to spare them from the water. I am never going to forget the sight of my dresser toppling over as my bedroom wall gave out to the Atlantic Ocean, which ferociously barged through my apartment. I am never going to forget the feeling of the carpet rippling in waves beneath my feet as the sewers backed up beneath the house. I am never going to forget my bed floating as I ran out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but my ratty college sweatpants, and my Christmas pajama shirt that said “Naughty”. I am never going to forget my husband’s face when he said the name of my favorite doll, who I had been ready to leave without, because in my panic, I hadn’t even thought of her. I am never going to forget the feeling of confusion and horror that I felt running out of my apartment, leaving my home behind, hearing my possessions crash and smash from the surging tide in my apartment. I am never going to forget running to the street, and seeing water as high as the side mirrors on the cars, turning my street into a roaring river. I am never going to forget the weight of my legs as I climbed the stairs to my landlord’s house to ring his bell, weighed down by wet sweatpants and a lifetime of grief that hadn’t even truly hit me yet. I am never going to forget the wide-eyed panic on the faces of my neighbors. I am never going to forget the blue flashes in the sky, which I first mistook for lightning until I realized it was the transformers popping in my neighborhood. I am never going to forget the sound of all of the car horns blaring on my street as they were overtaken by ocean water and flooded. I am never going to forget leaning over the railing of my landlord’s home to look at my apartment door and seeing the water rushing out of my apartment at the height of the doorknob. I am never going to forget how I couldn’t even comprehend what that meant. I am never going to forget my husband telling me we had to leave, we had to go to my mom’s, because the water was still rising, and no one knew how high it would go. I am never going to forget him taking my hand and pulling me through water that was at the tops of my thighs, knowing that I was wading through ocean water, sewer water, and God only knew what else, to get to safety. I am never going to forget running with the trees bending in the wind all around me, the sounds of them creaking and cracking…a threat that they might come down on my head. I am never going to forget that a part of me wished they would. I am never going to forget the man who drove by, who even after hearing our story, refused to help us. Who wouldn’t drive us to safety which was only a few blocks away. God may not forget him either. I am never going to forget getting to my mom’s house, and those first wretched tears that finally came to the surface as the words I had kept repeating all along finally sank in, “Our apartment is gone. Everything is gone. Everything I have ever owned is underwater and gone.” I am never going to forget the need to shower, to wash away this water that took it all away from me. I am never going to forget that whole night of waiting to go back, of wanting to see what was left of a life I worked so hard to build, and loved so much. I am never going to forget the morning, dawning on a new day, a new world. I am never going to forget going back for the first time, and seeing some of my belongings out on the street, knowing they floated out of the apartment. I am never going to forget the first time I saw the inside of my apartment again and saw what five feet of water can do to a life, to a home, to memories. I am never going to forget the devastation in my heart, I am never going to forget how hard it was to walk away from my apartment in that condition, how hard it was to walk away from everything that I ever had, from everything I ever saved because it meant something to me. I am never going to forget the feeling of uncertainty of whether I would be able to move on. I am never going to forget trying to mentally envision everything I ever had so I could say goodbye to everything one piece at a time. I am never going to forget begging God to take this back, to turn back time and make this never happen. I am never going to forget standing outside of the house, with destruction all around me, helicopters flying overhead, police tape flapping in a dying wind and saying, “I just want to go home” over and over and I am never going to forget the feeling of knowing that I couldn’t go home because there was no home to go to. I couldn’t go home, because home was washed away. I couldn’t go home because home is a state of mind, a state of heart, that once destroyed may be irreplaceable.
You can rebuild and you can start over. You can build new memories and you can get a new apartment, and you can do everything in your power to make that new apartment into a home, but can you ever really find home again? Once it is ripped away, once your soul is left gasping for air and your heart is bleeding into your guts, is there anything left there to mend? Can you feel happy again? Can you live a single day without missing something you once owned, without wishing you could put your hands on something you treasured? Can you go on knowing that a huge piece of who you were is gone? Can you look at the Atlantic Ocean, which you always loved, without thinking about what it took away from you? Can you look at the waves, at the foam sliding on the shore, without seeing a piece of your soul being dragged under with the broken seashells? Can you begin again knowing that in the end, you are powerless to save your own life? And can you find anything worth living for when you know anything you have is never really yours if it can so easily be taken away? Can you be happy if you can’t forget? Can you live if you can’t be happy?
Losing home isn’t losing your TV, your couch, your new stereo system. It isn’t losing your bed, your lamps, your jewelry. It’s the loss of you. It’s the loss of who you were and who you were ever going to be. It’s the loss of everything you know. It’s the loss of being able to be positive about anything. It’s the loss of everything you ever looked forward to. It’s the loss of today. It’s the loss of yesterday. It’s the loss of all the days to come. It’s the loss of all I ever wanted, all I was ever given, all I ever worked for. It’s the loss of all I had inside, of all my pride, of all my hopes and dreams. It’s the loss of spirit, the loss of comfort, the loss…the loss….the loss….
I am never going to forget the loss…
~Michelle Antoinette
It is now 1 year, 2 months, and two weeks since I wrote the above entry. I am happy to report that I am light years away from where I was then. I found a new apartment, which I love, and made it into a home. I struggled quite a bit for the 8 months that followed the storm. I didn't really cry anymore, I was just so down all the time. I really felt like I lost a huge piece of myself. I'm better now, so much better, and I feel like me again. I guess it's human nature to move on. I just made up my mind one day that I didn't want to be unhappy because of this storm anymore. It had taken so much, I couldn't let it take more time on top of everything else. I left the above entry unedited, although I know it isn't perfect, because that day I just let my fingers run over the keyboard at lightning speed, and verbalize everything I was feeling. I do remember all the pain I mentioned, I do remember all the loss, but now instead of a searing, gut-wrenching pain, it's more of an echo. Somewhere deep inside, is an echo of that hurt, and it's slowly fading away. It will be gone entirely one day, I think, and that is something I couldn't have even conceived of 1 year ago. I love the ocean, I always have (as you can tell from my background here =D ) and I love it still. I wanted to share this entry but I can't really say why. Maybe because it signifies a really important turning point in my life. Maybe because I just want it out there in case anyone else who is suffering may benefit to know I made it through. Or maybe both of those reasons, and others that I'm not even aware of. But there it is, a journal entry that presents itself as a snapshot of a brief moment in my life when I had nowhere else to put the pain. It will remain there as a reminder of where I've been and how far I've come.
~Chelle
Home
January 11th, 2013
It’s funny how certain words have so much emotion tied to them. Like the word home, for example. Home means something different to everyone, but I think for most, home is a sense of security. It’s where you can be yourself without having to answer for it. It’s the happy ending to a long, tiring day of work and travel. Home is internal, not to be confused with house, and it is comfort and belonging. At least, that’s what home has always been to me. So when you lose that, when it is taken away so violently, it feels like a violation of the worst kind. It’s a mental and physical violation, but worse yet, it’s a violation of the soul.
A house is external. It’s brick, stone, or wood and other materials built into a structure to house lives within. It’s tangible. A home isn’t tangible. A home is the life that is made within a house, and it is personal and unique to each individual. As a person who loves being home, I can’t adequately describe the pain of losing one. It’s beyond words, beyond belief. It feels like the world has changed and nothing in it is quite right anymore.
I had always been afraid of fire. I would hear of houses burning down, of people losing everything, and think “God, I hope that never happens to me”. I would think about what I would grab from my apartment if a fire broke out. What treasures meant the most to me? I always said I would grab my pictures and my favorite doll from my childhood. That was what I would most want. When something actually happens to your house though, you aren’t expecting it. It comes out of absolutely nowhere, and you may not react the way you’d expect. You may just jump up and run for your life in a state of sheer panic. You may spend extra time grabbing everything you can, even endangering your own life to save your past.
It has only been two and a half months since I lost my home and almost every single possession I have ever had but already I know, I am never going to forget the sight of water seeping under my wall, invading my home. I am never going to forget the panic inside as I tried to move things off of the floor to spare them from the water. I am never going to forget the sight of my dresser toppling over as my bedroom wall gave out to the Atlantic Ocean, which ferociously barged through my apartment. I am never going to forget the feeling of the carpet rippling in waves beneath my feet as the sewers backed up beneath the house. I am never going to forget my bed floating as I ran out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but my ratty college sweatpants, and my Christmas pajama shirt that said “Naughty”. I am never going to forget my husband’s face when he said the name of my favorite doll, who I had been ready to leave without, because in my panic, I hadn’t even thought of her. I am never going to forget the feeling of confusion and horror that I felt running out of my apartment, leaving my home behind, hearing my possessions crash and smash from the surging tide in my apartment. I am never going to forget running to the street, and seeing water as high as the side mirrors on the cars, turning my street into a roaring river. I am never going to forget the weight of my legs as I climbed the stairs to my landlord’s house to ring his bell, weighed down by wet sweatpants and a lifetime of grief that hadn’t even truly hit me yet. I am never going to forget the wide-eyed panic on the faces of my neighbors. I am never going to forget the blue flashes in the sky, which I first mistook for lightning until I realized it was the transformers popping in my neighborhood. I am never going to forget the sound of all of the car horns blaring on my street as they were overtaken by ocean water and flooded. I am never going to forget leaning over the railing of my landlord’s home to look at my apartment door and seeing the water rushing out of my apartment at the height of the doorknob. I am never going to forget how I couldn’t even comprehend what that meant. I am never going to forget my husband telling me we had to leave, we had to go to my mom’s, because the water was still rising, and no one knew how high it would go. I am never going to forget him taking my hand and pulling me through water that was at the tops of my thighs, knowing that I was wading through ocean water, sewer water, and God only knew what else, to get to safety. I am never going to forget running with the trees bending in the wind all around me, the sounds of them creaking and cracking…a threat that they might come down on my head. I am never going to forget that a part of me wished they would. I am never going to forget the man who drove by, who even after hearing our story, refused to help us. Who wouldn’t drive us to safety which was only a few blocks away. God may not forget him either. I am never going to forget getting to my mom’s house, and those first wretched tears that finally came to the surface as the words I had kept repeating all along finally sank in, “Our apartment is gone. Everything is gone. Everything I have ever owned is underwater and gone.” I am never going to forget the need to shower, to wash away this water that took it all away from me. I am never going to forget that whole night of waiting to go back, of wanting to see what was left of a life I worked so hard to build, and loved so much. I am never going to forget the morning, dawning on a new day, a new world. I am never going to forget going back for the first time, and seeing some of my belongings out on the street, knowing they floated out of the apartment. I am never going to forget the first time I saw the inside of my apartment again and saw what five feet of water can do to a life, to a home, to memories. I am never going to forget the devastation in my heart, I am never going to forget how hard it was to walk away from my apartment in that condition, how hard it was to walk away from everything that I ever had, from everything I ever saved because it meant something to me. I am never going to forget the feeling of uncertainty of whether I would be able to move on. I am never going to forget trying to mentally envision everything I ever had so I could say goodbye to everything one piece at a time. I am never going to forget begging God to take this back, to turn back time and make this never happen. I am never going to forget standing outside of the house, with destruction all around me, helicopters flying overhead, police tape flapping in a dying wind and saying, “I just want to go home” over and over and I am never going to forget the feeling of knowing that I couldn’t go home because there was no home to go to. I couldn’t go home, because home was washed away. I couldn’t go home because home is a state of mind, a state of heart, that once destroyed may be irreplaceable.
You can rebuild and you can start over. You can build new memories and you can get a new apartment, and you can do everything in your power to make that new apartment into a home, but can you ever really find home again? Once it is ripped away, once your soul is left gasping for air and your heart is bleeding into your guts, is there anything left there to mend? Can you feel happy again? Can you live a single day without missing something you once owned, without wishing you could put your hands on something you treasured? Can you go on knowing that a huge piece of who you were is gone? Can you look at the Atlantic Ocean, which you always loved, without thinking about what it took away from you? Can you look at the waves, at the foam sliding on the shore, without seeing a piece of your soul being dragged under with the broken seashells? Can you begin again knowing that in the end, you are powerless to save your own life? And can you find anything worth living for when you know anything you have is never really yours if it can so easily be taken away? Can you be happy if you can’t forget? Can you live if you can’t be happy?
Losing home isn’t losing your TV, your couch, your new stereo system. It isn’t losing your bed, your lamps, your jewelry. It’s the loss of you. It’s the loss of who you were and who you were ever going to be. It’s the loss of everything you know. It’s the loss of being able to be positive about anything. It’s the loss of everything you ever looked forward to. It’s the loss of today. It’s the loss of yesterday. It’s the loss of all the days to come. It’s the loss of all I ever wanted, all I was ever given, all I ever worked for. It’s the loss of all I had inside, of all my pride, of all my hopes and dreams. It’s the loss of spirit, the loss of comfort, the loss…the loss….the loss….
I am never going to forget the loss…
~Michelle Antoinette
It is now 1 year, 2 months, and two weeks since I wrote the above entry. I am happy to report that I am light years away from where I was then. I found a new apartment, which I love, and made it into a home. I struggled quite a bit for the 8 months that followed the storm. I didn't really cry anymore, I was just so down all the time. I really felt like I lost a huge piece of myself. I'm better now, so much better, and I feel like me again. I guess it's human nature to move on. I just made up my mind one day that I didn't want to be unhappy because of this storm anymore. It had taken so much, I couldn't let it take more time on top of everything else. I left the above entry unedited, although I know it isn't perfect, because that day I just let my fingers run over the keyboard at lightning speed, and verbalize everything I was feeling. I do remember all the pain I mentioned, I do remember all the loss, but now instead of a searing, gut-wrenching pain, it's more of an echo. Somewhere deep inside, is an echo of that hurt, and it's slowly fading away. It will be gone entirely one day, I think, and that is something I couldn't have even conceived of 1 year ago. I love the ocean, I always have (as you can tell from my background here =D ) and I love it still. I wanted to share this entry but I can't really say why. Maybe because it signifies a really important turning point in my life. Maybe because I just want it out there in case anyone else who is suffering may benefit to know I made it through. Or maybe both of those reasons, and others that I'm not even aware of. But there it is, a journal entry that presents itself as a snapshot of a brief moment in my life when I had nowhere else to put the pain. It will remain there as a reminder of where I've been and how far I've come.
~Chelle