Tribulation [h.s]

09

"The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade; you make the change
You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but
it's not me."

-

"Getting sober isn't the end of the story. It's only the beginning."

My eyes roll skywards. The number of times I've heard that line before.

There's a feeling of jubilation in the crowd as proud cheers erupt in the church hall as a member is called up to the podium with tears in his eyes.

"To one year."

The crowd echos back in delight. "To one year!"

Sitting up from the pews, the people celebrate with tears, laughter, and some even hug the crying man.

Sobriety. For some, it's something one must celebrate.

For others, like me, it's just another bleak day.

The man welcomes the comfort of others, and I wonder what it must feel like to enjoy touch, accept it, feel safe, and feel supported by it.

I sit in the back pew by the door, simply a bystander as I watch the scene unfold. I can't tell if I'm stoic or overwhelmingly numb and therefore avoidant to anything that could make me feel, well, anything.

Well, for starters, stoic people are resilient and something to admire. They're strong, powerful, and can withstand pain without so much of a wince.

So, I'm not sure if I'd call myself a stoic person now that I think about it. I don't handle pain well; in fact, I evade it altogether if I can help with distraction and distance. Distraction means no pain, and no pain means being able to wake up every morning and get through the day.  Distance means no attachments. No attachment means I don't get hurt.

I'm not strong; I'm anything but that. If anything, I'm numb because right now, I don't feel much of anything. But being numb is okay. It just means fewer things can hurt me, and I can get through the day.

So, looking over at the crowd, I don't smile or share a laugh with them. I stay seated as far back as I can, away from them. The old me probably would have still stayed seated the back where I am currently, but she'd be smiling, laughing softly as she cried to herself while she watched this, what's supposed to be wholesome, scene unfold before her.

But the old me isn't here anymore.

She's gone — good and dead. Now I'm here — cold, numb, and tired.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not invalidating their hard work. It's just that these group sessions aren't really my thing anymore. I don't like to talk to a group of strangers about how my life is falling apart. I don't want to share my life story to receive pitiful glances or hugs when I don't even like people to begin with. How is a group of strangers supposed to comfort me? The answer is, they're not. They can't comfort me; they're incapable of doing so. 

The only thing these group sessions are good for is reminding me of my failures, not my success.

"Allie, you're back." Richard smiles from the podium. By now, people have sat back down in their seats. All at once, dozens of heads turn. They're all looking at me. Fantastic. "How've you been?"

I sat in the back row for a reason — not to get seen, bothered, or bombarded with questions, and he knows that, but, of course, Richard calls me out on my bullshit.