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.