The Devil's Playground Has a Water Fountain

Virtual World Trade Center???

What the fuck? Hey, I finally got the guts and stopped being so chickenshit that I went through my 9/11 Commission paperwork in search of their support groups and therapists and picked out two. One is called LifeNet but for more information on that one I have to call. If I have the balls I'll do that on Monday. Also, Cornell University has an extensive program that you can read up online called Program for Anxiety and Trauma Stress Studies. Cool right? Sounds like it for me! So I surf there, my heart pounding in my chest as if I walking through the front door and not sitting around in my small assed room.

Searching around the site I instantly found a Post Traumatic Stress Self-Test. Try this out first to see if you need therapy. Okay, sounds pretty fucking good to me, right? So I go through the questions. All you have to do is check the box: 1) I feel like the terrible event is happening all over again. This feeling often comes without warning. Check; 2) I have nightmares and scary memories of the terrifying event. That's a check, check ; 3) I stay away from places that remind me of the event. Check; 4) I jump and feel very upset when something happens without warning. Oh yeah, motherfucker; 5) I have a hard time trusting or feeling close to other people. HA HA HA HA! 6) I get mad very easily. Somewhat on that call-mostly when I walk or in a crowded place; 7) I feel guilty because others died and I lived. WOW; 8) I have trouble sleeping, and my muscles are tense. Does sleeping three or four hours a day count?

The self-test ends with the evaluation. "If you put a check in the box next to some of these problems, you may have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." What if you have ALL of the fucking symptoms, do you get a pass? Okay then, lets just say for a cup full of shits and a audience full of giggles that I might have PTSD, let's look at how to take care of it. The site says that it's relatively simple. It says: "The main treatments are medications and/or psychotherapy. The medications most often used fall into two categories: antidepressant and antianxiety medicines. The antidepressant medicines most often used are Prozac, Paxil, Zoloft and Tofranil." Yeah, those are the ones that Dr G. thinks I should be put on right fucking away. She and I are trying to figure out which one because of the nasty side effects. I'm certain, in the near future I'm going to be on one of them.

It continues: "The antianxiety medicines most often used are Xanax, Klonopin and Ativan. Cognitive and/or behavioral psychotherapy are also effective treatments for Panic Disorder and/or Agoraphobia." Wow, so much? Yep, I figured that. I tried to take the easy way out. You know those feel good things and they just didn't make me feel good. And strong drugs have some effect, but I feel that it's not enough. I don't really have a handle on it all. I need that cognitive shit.

So, let's continue to follow the Yellow Brick Road on down into the site. Lets see what else they have to offer. I think I'm definitely going here either this or next week. Well, they have a straight up center for World Trade Center Treatment/For Individuals Who Witnessed The Attacks. Whoopee!! This Bud's for YOU, Hobobob. It IS THE FUCKING Yellow Brick Road!!! My heart soars. This is the Holy Grail that I knew was somewhere. I'm more excited than someone with a finger up their ass! Lets check this stuff out.

"D-Cycloserine Research Program..." Well, they really don't say what this drug or program is...they are instead proud of, "...Virtual Reality Research Program." Oh goodie, what can this be? I read further. Virtual World Trade Center. Wha? It says: "Following the attacks of September 11, individuals have commonly reported experiencing symptoms characteristic of posttraumatic stress disorder. The virtual reality treatment of these symptoms combines traditional exposure therapy with computer graphic images that aid in the reenactment of that day." What the FUCK?! They have got to be fucking shitting me! Then there are a bunch of people sitting around wearing virtual helmets. You know, the ones that over your eyes and ears giving you total sensory immersion.

Translation, you put that shit on, and you're in September 11th, 2001. Oh Heeeel NO! I can't believe that shit. My palms and balls are sweating just thinking about putting that shit over my head. No can do. Not gonna happen. Shit, I can't even watch a movie about the fucking event without crying. I feel anger and depression just watching episodes of Rescue Me and I'm going to put on a helmet that's going to drop my sorry ass right back into a smoldering fuck-zone? That fucking Hurt Locker? Oh no. Not the Kid. Who the fuck would think of that torture? That's what that is...fucking torture. Taunting your mind with those images that honestly I don't EVER in my cock-screwed life want to see again.

I shake my head in utter disbelief. Should I not go to this place now? I don't know if I can pull that one off. Not really. I remember the glass and bits of plastic crunching under my feet, like walking on saltine crackers. So much twisted metal in the night. So much of that shit. Every fucking where. And then the heartless cop driving us right up into a broken building South of the Great Mound. "Hey, do you want to see something that will scare the living shit out of you?" My buddy and I looked at him as if he was mad. We never responded, we were scared shitless already. Like the commercials for Ronco shit. You know, the fourteen Ginsu knives. When the announcer says: "But wait! There's more!"

More? Your brain cannot digest what you are seeing already. Cops see too fucking much in this city. It was like the Devil's playground with demons dancing around the smoke and haze and smell. He drove us up into the hollowed out wreckage of the Deutsche Bank building. Right up into it's scooped out center. It appeared to lean forward over us at a little after Midnight in the dark. So much destruction, you were certain that it would topple over on you. If you've never prayed to God, you will now. So I want to put a helmet on to take me back to Never, Neverland. I don't think so. Fuck, now what am I going to do? I know if I go to this traumatic studies place, they're going to keep on, and keep on, and keep on, until they MAKE me put on that stupid fucking hat. I don't really know if I can deal.

Well, then...I've decided. I'll do like I did at the Inter- national Center for the Disabled when I could take no more. I'll split.

I'll just split.

Hobobob