I got a letter from my doctor the other day, that basically said I didn’t have to go to group therapy anymore. I didn’t know I had to get her permission not to go, since it’s voluntary and all, but I guess I should be glad I don’t have to go there again. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with group therapy per se, it’s just that this particular group was… ugh. I’ve never seen such a mis-matched group of freaks in my life. Naturally, I’m not really allowed to talk about anyone in that group, but some sweeping generalisations of what might have happened can’t hurt anyone, right?

See, the thing is, I really don’t have any trouble with confiding in strangers. Actually, I prefer strangers to confide in; they don’t have any preconceived notions of what I’m going to say, and if I’m really lucky I never have to meet them again. And as long as I’m in a social setting where it doesn’t really matter what people think of me, I’m pretty open. So, theoretically, I’d be pretty good in a group therapy setting, confiding in equally crazy semi-strangers.

Only problem was, these crazy people we’re stuck with some sort of normalcy-complex. They refused to recognize that they were crazy. They stubbornly hung on to the notion that they could be normal if they only “tried a little harder”. Now, I don’t believe there is such a thing as absolute insanity, seeing as insanity in and of itself is heavily dependent on context, which lead to me going in to this group-thing with a somewhat… different point of view. I don’t think that these people were absolutely crazy, I think they (and I) are having a very reasonable reaction to a society that isn’t really fit for people, which makes us contextually, and perhaps relatively insane. So these would-be fellow crazy-people were, in fact, irritatingly normal, and trivialized the entire thing. They wanted to be assimilated, I wanted to find a way to cope with this shitty reality without changing who I am too much.

(Sidenote: Oooh! Data from Startrek in a completely different role on TV! And a midget!)

It’s not the easiest thing in the world to get psychiatric help here, unless you’re prepared to pay for it out of your own pocket. So these people, and I, who were weeded out to actually receive this sought-after psychiatric treatment, we really need it. There’s no place for moderately depressed people. You need to be in pretty bad shape to get any kind of counselling through the public health care system.

And that’s why I was thoroughly pissed off when they started to whine about utterly trivial things, like “I sometimes feel bad after drinking too much alcohol, which I did this weekend on my trip to [city far, far away]”, and “my boyfriend left me and it sucks”. Now, I don’t dispute the fact that these things can be very, very hard to deal with. The day-after-paranoia sucks, getting broken up with sucks, life, in general, can be pretty sucky. But I take offense when I hear someone talking about flying halfway around the world, and then whining about being hung over, when I can’t even get on the subway to visit friends on the other side of town. There’s a slight discrepancy of problems, there.

It’s not that I doubt that these people have genuine problems for which they, apparently, need psychiatric help. It’s just that when they waste their, and my, time with droning on about these god-damn BORING problems, I get pissy about it. If they’re in the group, they need to be there, and they probably have worse problems than they shared. I just don’t get why they even bother to go there if they’re not going to take it seriously. Srsly.

Oh, and also, there was the ganging up on, the fighting, and the fact that when I shared stuff like my ex controlling me and threatening to commit suicide if I left him, they all shut up and then changed subjects. It’s a very strange feeling to out-misfit the other misfits.

To be honest, it wasn’t like I didn’t participate in the fighting. There was this one guy in the group, who constantly spouted cliche’s, sounding like an inspirational poster, no matter what anyone said. I called him on it, and we got into a fight. The last time I went to a session, I spent the entire time trying to stare him down, amused by his squirming.

Anyway, my defection from the group therapy means I’m bumped down to the bottom of the waiting list again, and get to go without any kind of help until I get a new therapist assigned to me. It’s wonderful. I suppose I only have myself to blame, because if I only “tried a little harder”, I could be “normal”, too. 

Advertisements