Group therapy

During a liaison with a therapist which lasted a year she introduced me to the world of recovery. I attended a few of her meetings to try and understand what it was all about.

Seemed to me that this bunch of characters didn’t have a lot going for them, it was like a ‘crèche for adolescents’. The only thing missing were a few comforters. I filed this information away for future reference.

Listening to a bunch of ex anybodies twittering on about how they had suddenly been 'born again' into a new and wonderful life seemed a bit odd to me. Their tales were mostly around how everything had been lost. I found it extremely peculiar that it took the removal of jobs, homes and loved ones to opened their eyes to their irrational behaviour. Anyone over the age of twelve could have told them that.

As to being born again, assholes spring to mind.

I have had my own breakdown you realise, and indeed, I was incarcerated some years ago in a mental hospital for my own sanity check, so I am no stranger to instability. I found hard work and industry helped. This bunch thought holding hands, chanting and trying to get in touch with the living would yield the same result.

As I pondered the worth of group therapy, I smiled and imagined fondling the young ladies breasts sitting next to me. It did not take long for me to come to the completely straight forward conclusion that if I ever displayed the amount of self obsession I was currently experiencing I should be incarcerated once again.

But I have to admit that some of these ‘fragile’ creatures were very attractive indeed. To an old manipulator like me I guessed some of the more 'tearful' prospects would respond very well to my charms. Becoming a spiritual comforter became even more appealing. I really needed to get out more and drink myself into oblivion to find out what all the fuss was about.

As I progressed along the journey of spiritual salvation with my lovely therapist I developed my own level of self interest, her. Becoming conversant with the writings of all the anonymous and sundry poetic claptrap she spouted made it easier to get her into bed.

‘The couple who pray together, stay together!’ She would say. I nodded agreement as I slid my hands further under the duvet.

Delicious though she was eventually she was another heady cocktail that proved too much for me to handle.