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6:42 a.m. - June 12, 2003
It's morning: some (non)thoughts
I cringe when the word is used flippantly, deliberately bantered around in conversation often enough to strip it of shame, as if being pummeled removes acerbic layers of grime and filth one square inch at a time and leaves a fresh and shiny shellac in its wake.

Last night was my final group therapy session until September though Iím evaluating whether I will continue in the program upon my return from Washington, D.C. I inquired earlier whether participation in both the individual and group therapy formats is compulsory because honestly, the group session isnít comfortable for me. Unfortunately both are required Ė remember, this is a pilot program and itís all about statistics and model therapy. It strikes me that the phrase isnít comfortable for me is a whiny cop-out and a defense but it is accurate: Each time I go or leave a session, I leave with a mounting conviction that it isnít the place for me. I spoke to Dr. Indy about it once and she said to give things a chance but still, I look around and their issues Ė or how they deal with them Ė are so different from mine that itís frustrating and demoralizing. Iím the only one out of this group that has the aversion/attraction/panic/repulse response to intimacy; the others fall along the spectrum but mostly clustered around Iím a stretched-out slut though I donít think thatís the official label. Of all insane things, I register jealousy and envy when I hear them talk about their activities and goings-on, not titillated but curious, watching the window into something that simply isnít me.

And yet more frequently I have been intimate, a ship obscured by fog. Itís not the type, or quality, of intimacy I want, however; it is unfulfilling and empty.

I donít think thereís a place in me where Iíll be comfortable.

You know what Iím really afraid of? That if I let go Iíll turn into one of them.


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