8:26 p.m. - December 22, 2003
Iím in the parking lot a few minutes after the group therapy session ended. Iím breathing heavily, wonder whether Iím breathing like this because Iíve walked quickly or because Iím furious I donít know. I am angry. I am furious. Tonightís session leader was --- and early into the session he addressed me, pushed me to ďfishĒ or speculate rather than responding ďI donít knowĒ and quickly the session Ė about an hour out of 1.5 Ė became a discussion about me. About how perhaps I tease, how I may be manipulating people. This after an inquiry into why and how I push people away, as in former relationships. I shut down and felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable and --- kept saying itís good to have oneís boat rocked. Mine was overturned and Iím angry about my response to being on the spot like I was. I feel like shit already as it is when either group facilitator mentions or hints about factors inhibiting the group process Ė meaning my quietness, my hesitation to share and be open and lay everything out as if they were people I trust instead of strangers, my reticence that is profoundly noticeable and a distasteful foil compared to the remaining other two members of this group Ė and --- wondered further whether I enjoy the push and pull and what if thatís true, what does that make me? A fucking drama queen or some pathologized emotional freak? And as he asked these things I wondered what they have to do with childhood sexual abuse, why do we talk about anger and relationships and not more about what happened? And I was on the spot far too often but the worst came when --- asked me a bit later about my current thoughts and before I could grab my tongue I said Iím not coming back. And --- nodded and said ďI would be disappointed if you sabotaged the group like thatĒ and I feel trapped and angry because of that damn FOB who quit and hasnít been back in two weeks, if he hadnít quit then I couldíve and the group would be extant because it needs a minimum of three members. Three! If I leave the group folds. And my running commentary says is this a way to seek attention Ė Jesus Christ, what if this is true? Ė And then everybody in the group addressed me in turn: ďJason, youíre the most well-spoken, Jason, Iíve been where you are before and trust me you can get through thisĒ And I wanted to laugh and scoff, spit in their faces because they donít know me, donít know me at all other than Iím the quiet one in the group who has to clench his teeth and will his eyes not to overflow and I canít hide it. Every week Iíve been speaking more and more, what more do they want and need? I just canít uncork and be a fount, not when most days I feel like I donít know which way is up and grasp fruitlessly for the right word to describe a thought or feeling. Like right now I feel like Iím not making any sense, am only paying half-attention to what Iím writing because Iím registering how hot my face is, how fast my heart pounds, how my hand aches writing this on a tiny sheet of paper. I was tempted to get up and leave but didnít only because that would have been a worse scene than I was already and avoiding the dramatic is noble. Iíve calmed down and itís time to drive home.
80% of me wants to quit, the other part doesnít want to be the way I am forever.