6:42 a.m. - June 12, 2003
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.