I don’t think I will find any kindred spirits here, but then I haven’t much spirit left. There’s a fair bit of denial within me tonight. This can’t be right. I cannot really be here. But then I remember I’ve nowhere else to be. I don’t think I have ever felt as alone as I do right now.
I’ve probably mentioned, dear readers, that I find social situations awkward. I’m not really a joiner. But my morning health professional encouraged my participation in a therapeutic group.
Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. I’ve had some loooong hours in my life but I felt every second in that little room. The two young occupational therapists were enthusiastic and attractive, the female with an Irish accent.
To my left was a young male with angry looking sores all over his body. He was very vocal about being conditioned by the system and labelled by the organizations. Passionately vocal. To my right was an older gentleman with no anger issues, except for the time he threatened a magistrate and two lawyers and how last August he threw a chair around the room at a course he was doing and took out seven computers. Then there were two women perhaps my age or younger? Both blond and tanned and over accessorised, who talked about their stays in rehab. And all the while in an adjacent room someone else screamed and shouted for the duration. You’ll forgive me for missing afternoon arts and crafts.
I just want my safe place. I just want my home. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. But the witch and her flying monkeys seem to have won.
That’s not the way the story is meant to end.