Of course, I expected this to happen, but that does little to cushion the impact.
With white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, I just sat there. Stationary. Staring. Only moments earlier, as group was coming to an end, my agitation was simmering as we did the obligatory “check-out”
I proclaim in a rather snotty tone, “I’ve taken nothing from the group this week”.
As a matter of fact, this session was once again too much about the man who talks too much, Norris.
Earlier, one of the group Therapists made more of a statement than a question
“I’m just wondering if Cat has any thoughts on the things Norris has been saying”
I wonder if I should tell him what a bore he is, or how he seems to talk too much and the only time he converses is when it’s ALL about him.
I already know there are renditions of Mum; that self-obsessed- poor-me-martyrdom-style-attitude. Like a sponge they soak up every last ounce of energy.
It would be cruel to unleash my own issues, so I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Every time I hear Norris talk, he reminds me of the exact same issues I battled with at his age”
It is so very true. He’s fragile. I hesitate to take it further. I feel responsible for his stability.
As I white-knuckle the steering wheel, it doesn’t dawn that I am actually agitated by something stirring inside from group. As Friday rolled into Saturday, everything and everyone was berated. And then today, a glimmer of light penetrates the darkness.
I recognise Norris’ circumstances only too well and fear any elaboration about my own destiny might destroy his hopes of recovering from depression and addictions, and becoming successful at something…
“… Before it’s too late” Norris keeps repeating…. He probably means something entirely different, but I assume “too late” refers to before he gets to my age, 51. I’m not insulted, but my awareness is being dragged back 10 plus years.
When I had my first mental breakdown, I was around 36. Five years later, I knew a large proportion of life had been ruined. This idea of wasted years hung around like a bad smell and the subsequent years only added to the aroma.
I would swing between this burning desire and self-belief to being completely overwhelmed by depression. Maybe I could still go to University and carve a new career. The reality was, there were days when I could barely raise my head from the pillow, let alone leave the house.
When I was Norris’ age, I too possessed a belief that it wasn’t too late. In many ways, that is the last thing I really remember until a couple of years ago.
I hide a deep regret for those wasted years. And, do you know what one of the worst things is? I still wouldn’t be mentally fit enough for holding down a college course, let alone a job. To say I feel disappointed in myself would be an understatement.
And that is why I’m agitated…