Group Therapy

It was unfortunately as bad,
If not worse then I expected,
I didn’t feel safe or accepted.
Put in a room with a bunch of rejects,
Unable to maintain their secrets.
I didn’t want to share,
I didn’t want to know,
From the moment that I got there,
I wanted to go.
The Stephen Merchant lookalike running the class,
He seemed insincere,
Clueless,
And invasive,
I didn’t warm to him,
Or anyone else.
I said no male therapist.
I said no groups.
Yet that is what I was given.
Perhaps if they had listened,
Today’s problems may not have risen.
The clammy hands,
The heart palpitations,
The tremors,
The panic,
The discomfort.
Mum seems cross,
Because I have writ it off,
But head down,
My tail between my legs,
I will go back again,
And again,
And again,
But I know that group therapy is not for me.
There is no compatibility.
My shoulders are heavy already,
My bones ache,
And my heart is broken.
I have so far to go,
I want self recovery,
I want help,
Not a lesson on others misery and history.
I appreciate that it is good to relate,
But their worries on top,
Make it very hard to concentrate.
I wont.
I can’t open up with others in the room.
I’m not there yet,
For that part of my journey,
It feels way to soon.

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