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I made an appointment to see a mental health professional and had to cancel it when I had to theology leave town when my mother-in-law almost died, and after theology that I just decided the hell with seeing a shrink. I’m scared of theology planning anything, making any sort of reservation, for fear that it will bring another hurricane or the Grim Reaper. Long story short, I’m still fucked up, exactly one year to the day after that goddam Frances hit us. And I’m a securely employed middle class dude who didn’t lose anything of consequence. In 1999 I went to North Carolina and wrote a series of articles about the recovery from flooding after Hurricane Floyd. I went there six weeks after the floods (Tarboro and Princeville, primarily), and the most striking thing was the utter depression and rage that these people felt. I talked to people who had no energy and little will to live. They were fairly glad to be alive, but … well, some of them had that thousand-yard stare that made me wonder if they would ever be all right, emotionally, ever again.
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