Tuesday, April 24, 2012

    What happens?  What always happens?
     I’m sitting in group therapy.  Which one is it?  Dual Diagnosis?  Is that the one?
     Anyways, I’m sitting there and the swelling becomes apparent.  A sorrow is gaining mass in my chest.  It’s bulging.  I can’t conceal it any longer.
     My nose begins to drip and the social worker asks if I have a cold.  I chuckle and say yes.  I rise from my chair.  I say excuse me.  (Must be polite).  Then I’m out the door.  I text a friend who is seated in regular group therapy.  The group that doesn’t have abuse problems.  The luckier group.  

I tell her to meet me outside.
     And it’s cold outside.  It’s overcast.  It’s drizzling.  But I don’t care.  I sit on the curb and I let it rain down on me.  I let the tears come and the heavy sobs and sniffles and snot and gasps for air.  I let it happen.
     My friend comes out and crouches in front of me.  She asks what’s wrong and I ask for a cigarette.  I ask for so many cigarettes.  She gives me one and as I smoke it she retrieves green tea and a bundle of tissues for me.  I take a few sips of the tea and continue using my sleeve as a rag.
     She puts her hand on my shoulder.  She’s consoling.  She’s nice.  She’s such a good friend.
     But I just sob and stare at the pavement.
     She suggests we go inside, there are too many people out here.  Other smokers.  Employees.  Visitors.
     I shake my head.  I say I don’t care.
     She says it’s cold.  She says I’m freezing and that I should go inside with her, but I just ask for a few more minutes.  A few more minutes outside.
     She complies and I smoke more and more cigarettes.  I fill my lungs.  I purposefully fill my lungs with smoke.  With a haze of grey.  
And now I’m home.  My throat is sore and my head aches and my eyes are irritated.   
My body is demolished from crying for hours.  
And I couldn’t tell you why.
I couldn’t tell you a damn thing.
What a silly Monday. 

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