Twenty minutes later, everyone was working in their journals, creating a life map. People had been tasked with identifying both positive and negative experiences that had impacted them in some way. This was meant to lead to a bigger discussion about what had triggered their using. It was a great activity, one that would undoubtedly lead to some great therapeutic interaction in any group but this one. Sadly, I couldn’t imagine anyone here taking it very seriously, the way it was intended.
Kristie encouraged me to participate as well. She had told me before group that some elements of personal disclosure from a facilitator can have a powerful impact. She warned me to be careful of what I would expose about myself, but she said that small bits of information could be a great way to create a bond between them and me.
The idea of opening myself at all had always been hard. And it would be absolutely agonizing to do so with this particular group of people.
When the time was up, Kristie started going around the group, asking everyone to share something. Most shared very shallow things, from Marissa getting her first car to Twyla’s rejection by her first choice of a university. When Kyle, the frat guy, stated that a negative experience in his life had been the time he got locked out of his dorm room, I sort of lost it.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed. Thirteen sets of eyes swung in my direction. Kristie frowned, clearly not appreciating my outburst. She silently reprimanded me for my lack of supportive sensitivity, but I didn’t care. I had had it with sitting week after week in a group of people who weren’t taking this opportunity seriously.
What I wouldn’t give for my sister to have had the chance to sit and learn something in a group like this. Their rigid refusal to absorb any of what Kristie so patiently tried to teach them was frustrating to the point of blinding rage. And Evan and April, with their derisive sneers, tipped me over the edge.
Kyle looked taken aback and blinked in confusion. “Uh, yeah, that day sucked. I had to walk down to campus security, and then I had to wait like two hours for a replacement key. I was late for my chem lab . . .”
I held up my hand and cut him off. “Enough. You know that’s total bullshit,” I said blandly. Kyle puffed up indignantly, which was a hell of a lot better than his placid disinterest.
“Well, f**k you. What do you know about having a hard life, Miss Barbie Doll?” Evan piped up, his arm squeezing his girlfriend to his side so tightly it was as though he worried she would try to escape—though I wouldn’t blame her if she’d tried.
Kristie snapped her fingers, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s move on to deep-breathing techniques,” she said with a fierce perkiness that belied her irritation with my outburst.
“No, Kristie. Let me answer Evan,” I spoke up, my eyes meeting his beady dark ones head-on. This guy was used to intimidating others. Well, he could just f**k off.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Aubrey,” Kristie reproached me firmly. I was going to be in trouble for this. But something had to be done. These people didn’t respect either of us. They sat there in their self-involved bullshit, thinking they were the only ones with pain. And they didn’t understand a goddamned thing about it.
It was time to page Dr. Fucking Phil and call them on their crap.
“I lost my fifteen-year-old sister to a drug overdose three years ago. She was pumped full of heroin by a guy she thought loved her but then left her in an alleyway to choke on her own vomit. Her body wasn’t discovered until two days later when the trash guys came to empty the Dumpster she was propped up against,” I snapped.
Evan’s eyes went wide, and I couldn’t help but relish the way he seemed to recoil at my moment of honesty. And then I realized what I had said. Christ, I hadn’t meant to say any of that.
I looked around at the group, and everyone’s expression was the same. Shock. And pity. Which made me want to hit a wall.
But when I dared to look at Maxx, I didn’t see any of those things on his face. Again, there was an emotion I wasn’t sure I was interpreting correctly. Because he looked relieved?
Kristie cleared her throat, trying to take control of the group again. Judging from the look of restrained anger on her face, I had screwed up big-time. “I want everyone to take a few minutes and write about one of the events on your life map and why you feel that impacts your addiction,” she directed, getting to her feet.
Kristie met my eyes and jerked her head toward the hallway. I sighed and followed her. After she had closed the door to the classroom, she rounded on me. “That was completely and totally inappropriate, Aubrey. I’m in shock right now that you would do something like that. Not only did you belittle a group member and invalidate his feelings, but you made the group about you and your feelings. While disclosure can be beneficial, it most certainly isn’t when it’s given in a context like this. It has to be about solidifying a connection between counselor and patient. When it’s all about you, it’s not healthy,” she lectured, and I hung my head in shame. She was right. I had overstepped.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that,” I replied.
Kristie shook her head. “I have a good idea why, but this isn’t the time or place to get into that. I think it would be best if you left tonight. I’ll finish group by myself. And then I think we need to sit down with Dr. Lowell and talk about whether your continued participation in this group as a co-facilitator is suitable,” she remarked, sounding nothing like the compassionate and nurturing counselor I knew her to be. Right now she was disappointed and unhappy.
Wow, I had really messed things up.
“I understand,” was all I said. I felt horrible, both physically and mentally. I should have gone home and gone to bed and worried about the mess I’d made in the morning. But the thought of possibly running into Renee was less than appealing. I wasn’t able to hide my emotions very well, and even though she was on most days still firmly up her own ass, my roommate still read me better than anyone.
I ended up wandering around campus. I felt achy, and I most likely had a fever, but I just couldn’t make myself go home. It was late, and very few people were still out. I finally sat down at a bench by the library and stared at a wall that was painted with bright greens and blues. The central image was a figure of a woman walking off a wooden pier into a sea of black sludge, her long blond hair waving behind her as she fell. Her face was nondescript except for her smile. It was as though she was happy to be going to her death.