Helene Update #3

Every day reveals more horror. As media and aide penetrate deeper into the mountains, more and more devastation is uncovered. Harrowing stories keep emerging: families drowned in the flood waters; grandparents trapped in trees; communities and livelihoods destroyed.

What’s hard to grasp is the sporadic randomness of the devastation. One street will be untouched, while the next street is reduced to rubble. The unpredictability is dizzying, but also often reveals class distinctions. The poor are more likely to live in flimsy homes in valleys or up gravel roads in hollers. The wealthy have better infrastructure, more solid homes, and can afford to live away from flood plains.

This video is from my region, and it showcases the damage. This is my home, and where I was raised. These scenes are my childhood memories, washed away. These are families and communities I’ve been embedded in my whole life. The grief is huge.

https://youtu.be/XYnVbBXuPfU?si=a_4YWvnhSr6sbnEk

A friend of mine texted me that her house was washed away. She said, “I'm alive, and my pets are too, and I have my mom’s ashes. That's what matters.”

Yesterday, Jon and I made it across town into one of the flood plains to check on our best friend’s house. Miraculously it was still standing, but the inside had been flooded by two feet. The entire line of houses across from his, though, was gone.

We now have power, but still have no water. We might be without water for days or weeks. It appears I’m house bound for the foreseeable future, because the heavy rain has rendered my car immobile. A mechanic friend has promised to look at it when he and his family return from their evacuation in Charlotte. My partner’s car is working, and we are using it as sparingly as possible since it is our lifeline in case something goes wrong (like violence, fire, injury, or another weather event.) We have been able to get potable water from a water station in town. Gas is hard to come by. Every time we leave our house it’s like venturing into a war zone.

But I’m also heartened by the kindness of strangers. There are reports of looting and violence Asheville, but I haven’t seen it locally. I’ve only seen strangers giving each other care, water, and food. The rubble of my town is dotted with families setting up tables of cooked meals for those passing by. My grocery store has donated huge amounts of food to the community. Mountain folk are kind, and I’m proud of them, and proud to be one of them.

I plead with you to donate to the Red Cross of NC. We need your help, and we will continue to need your help for a long time to come. Please don’t forget about us. I don’t know how we will rebuild our communities. I am certain it will take years.

I’m fairly cut off from my community up here on my hill. I’m desperate to help, to return to my store, to see my friends and parents. But travel is dangerous and limited for the foreseeable future. We also need to stay off the roads so emergency vehicles, aide, and utilities can get through. For now, the best I can do is support those providing aide, and encourage everyone online to donate.

But this isolation leaves me to my thoughts, and the complex inner world of coping with catastrophe. I will recount some of that processing now, but such recounting can seem self-indulgent while others are suffering so much more severely, so feel free to stop reading now.

My dreams have become vivid. In a dream several nights ago, I found myself needing to pray to God for help, but confronting the fact that I don’t believe in God. At least, not the God I used to believe in who answers prayers. The rest of the dream was working out how to pray for my region despite not believing. I don’t think I came to a good solution.

Other times, my dreams turn comical. In last night’s dream, my partner told me that, as part of the hurricane relief, we needed to put holsters on all six of our cats and take them for a walk. I was confused, but trusted him anyway. (Come to think of it, maybe it would cheer the community to see a pair of homosexuals walking six cats.)

Strange, explosive anxieties come up that seem unrelated to the catastrophe. I get super stressed about my career or some unrelated thing like how I might have hurt a friend with a wrong word a decade ago, only to realize that the anxiety is displaced.

I’m having to be extremely selective about my attention. Some things I can’t dwell on. I can only look at the devastation for so long before it becomes like looking into the sun, and I have to look away.

I can feel big emotions lurking beneath the surface. It’s a feeling of alienation, distance, and depersonalization. I thank my brain for these coping skills, since humanity has been through millions of years of calamity, and we are evolved for resilience. The brain knows when to create distance.

At the same time, I’m monitoring myself for signs of trauma. I do feel survivor’s guilt. I feel that detached shakiness that I know well from 15 years ago, when I survived a shooting. Fortunately, only a minority of trauma experiencers develop PTSD. But the next 3-6 months will be hard for all of us in WNC, as we collectively process the devastation. If that necessary processing continues indefinitely beyond those 3-6 months, then it has become PTSD, and I have no doubt that many in WNC will suffer from it.

I’m finding solace in reading. I’ve read a number of Junji Ito horror manga. I’m re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia, which is like wrapping myself in a warm blanket. And I’m reading the Discourses of Epictetus, whose wisdom is a light in this darkness.

Epictetus writes directly about examining and embracing what is and is not in our control, and even how to manage catastrophe, death, and violence. In the second book of his discourses, he says,

The question, then, is how to strike a balance between a calm and composed attitude on the one hand, and a conscientious outlook that is neither slack nor careless on the other. Model yourself on card players. The chips don't matter, and the cards don't matter; how can I know what the deal will be? But making careful and skillful use of the deal - that's where my responsibility begins. So in life our first job is this, to divide and distinguish things into two categories: externals I cannot control, but the choices I make with regard to them I do control. Where will I find good and bad? In me, in my choices.

Stoic philosophy narrows my gaze, focuses me towards what I can do and accepting what I cannot. This brings me a peace of mind that would otherwise be unavailable to me. I can’t control what is happening around me. I can only control my response to it. That empowers me, and helps me see that I can actually do a lot to relieve the suffering of others and protect myself, my partner, and my community.

The utility of this 2000 year old philosophy has reminded me, all over again, why we need great philosophy and literature. It is our light — the cumulative wisdom of humanity forged in suffering. Without it, we are lost.

I will try to return to regular writing on Substack, partly because I need to return to some kind of routine, but also because I desperately need the money.

I’m not asking for donations. If you donate to anything, please donate to the NC Red Cross or other orgs providing aide. Rather, I’m requesting an exchange of goods: if you enjoy my work, please consider upgrading. It is needed now more than ever.

And, as always, lack of money should never be a barrier to my work. If you are unable to afford a paid subscription, please DM me or respond to this email, and I will grant you six months free, no questions asked.