My name is Kat. Katrina Ann Delchamps. I am a survivor in every sense of the word.

I live in Tennessee now, in Nashville. I lived most of my life in New Orleans, Louisiana. Last year, on August 29, 2005, one year ago today, changed all of that.

Remember Hurricane Katrina? Well, I was in the midst of her fury, and I lost everything I held dear: my home, my belongings, my very way of life as I once knew it. I now had to relocate to a new, unfamiliar city, find a place to live, find a new job, find a whole new way of life.

I was one of those poor, hapless people who had nowhere to go. I lived in the Lower Ninth Ward, which was primarily made up of poor, lower-class citizens of minority backgrounds (mostly African-American, but there were scatterings of Caucasian and Hispanic), and when Hurricane Katrina came calling, she hit us like a ton of bricks.

Water was everywhere, houses were ripped apart (or completely off their foundations) by the ferocious winds, and our belongings were scattered into the winds like children's toys, never to be seen again.

I had to stay in the ruined shell that was my home for a week, no power, no running water, very little in the way of food. It was hell, pure-t hell. I had no place to go. Being poor and living in a depressed area of New Orleans with little opportunity for advancement kept me trapped.

Then came the rising waters from the levees. What was already a serious situation for New Orleans only became more dire as the minutes ticked by. The dirty, stagnant waters rose quickly in only a matter of a few short hours: I was forced to sit on the roof of my damaged home, praying to God that it could support me. I was hoping, praying that somebody could pluck me to safety, away from this hellhole.

The sickening stench of raw sewage coupled with the odor of decomposing bodies, garbage, and whatnot was unbelievable. The odors were only compounded by the humid Louisiana air. I was beginning to wonder if anyone even cared. I sat on that roof, scared, wet, cold, unsure of my future.

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After the waters had receded a bit, a neighbor picked me up in his boat. He took me to a shelter. That was no picnic either.

When I got my FEMA money from the government, I had another friend drive me from the shelter to the bus station. I was determined to get out of Louisiana as soon as possible: Louisiana left me with nothing but bad memories, despair, and heartbreak; I wanted like hell to leave all that behind.

I ended up in Tennessee, Nashville, to be exact. It wasn't nearly as big as N'Awlins (or at least, I didn't think it wasn't!), but she looked warm and friendly enough. Best of all: there were no threat of hurricanes!

I went to a homeless shelter for a few months until I found my feet. I found a job. I am working at a local Hummer dealership, fixing Hummers. I have always loved tinkering with cars, trucks--you name it: as long as it had four wheels and an engine, it was fair game. I loved the smell of gasoline, and I loved the challenge of trying to repair a car or truck. The job at the Hummer place seemed perfect, and the money was good. It wasn't long before I had my first real place since leaving Louisiana; for the first time in over six months, I finally felt that I was going places.

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Now today marks the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. Once again, the nightmares commence and come rushing back to me. I don't know if I will ever get over what I--and thousands of others--experienced that fateful August day last year. I am plagued with nightmares, and people just don't understand what I had to endure in order to get where I am at now in life. If only for one moment these people could experience what I went through, maybe then they will finally realize the pain taht I now carry deep inside of me and why it is so hard for me to forget.

~Written by Kat (Katrina) Ann Delchamps, survivor of the madness that was Hurricane Katrina.