Tag Archives: group therapy

Group Work

I always hated group work in school.  It sucked.  Then you grow up and go a little off the deep end and bam, they make you do group work all over again.

Currently, I’m in an outpatient program that involves a lot of group “therapy”.  First we have to fill out a form called a, not kidding, “happy sheet” with numbers rating how we are feeling on certain days.  Like Angry, Sad, Anxious, Hopeless, Bored as Shit, etc.  I added the last one, but it should be on there.  You also have to say how well you slept.  Well, fuck, I don’t know, I was sleeping.  I know I need help because I can’t even fill out the happy sheet correctly because I forget whether 10 is the best or the worst, so sometimes I just randomly circle 5.

Wait, so ten means I'm great or awful or . . . screw this.

Wait, so ten means I’m great or awful or . . . screw this.

The therapist looks at your sheet and then asks you how you’ve been.  Turns out most of us have not been well. Which is why we’re there.  While each person gets a turn at whining, the rest of us either try to look concerned or just say fuck it and nap.  We’re all either sleep deprived from insomnia or just stoned on various pharmaceuticals so it’s generally accepted.  Better than work meetings where this is usually frowned upon.

I have not been declared ready for work yet (sarcastic sadface) because I still have meltdowns.  Wednesday was because this lady tried to talk about time management and lists and all I could see was this endless stream of shit I hadn’t done yet and I had to leave so I could freak out and the nurse seemed concerned with this.  Thursday was music therapy and the lady brought fucking drums and we all had to play in a circle and make up our own rhythms which I ain’t got and it just kept going and going and we were supposed to remember our turns and think while there was banging and I wanted to hit the therapist with the drum repeatedly.  I would have tried to play a creative rhythm while I did.

I fucking hate drums.

I fucking hate drums.

Friday we talked about what made us Angry, Sad, Scared, etc.  I said drums for every one, among other things.  But then someone started talking about traffic and the conversation steered off into an actual car wreck as people talked about all the accidents they had been in and how dangerous it was to drive when I was going to have to drive in the next fifteen minutes or so and I was like “subject change” and they said sure and then went back to traffic and I left and the nurse called my husband and said I really shouldn’t drive home cause for some reason I am having problems.  She thinks I want to kill myself.  That’s not true.  I want to kill everyone else.

Part of the problem is that I happen to like stuff like routine and we’ve had absolutely none of that.  The regular therapist was gone last week, so we got therapist of the day.  It’s always reassuring when your therapist asks “Am I supposed to be here?” when she first shows up.  Then you get to tell your problems over and over again which is super fun, especially for the ones who have irritating and possibly made-up problems.  Like this one chick who couldn’t seem to gain weight and constantly talked about how people were so hot for her and her stepfather was stalking her and every time someone made a suggestion for help she said no because he was in the police’s pocket you see, and I don’t care.

Group is FUN.

Group is FUN.

We also have different psychiatrists prescribing the drugs.  So far I’ve seen three – one in inpatient and two more in outpatient.  I’ve been in outpatient 7 days by the way.  The first shrink put me on lithium and the third one took me off.  It hasn’t seemed to make much of a difference on my anxiety. I’m normal for a while, then I want to climb a tree until I take my pills and then I just want to be unconscious.  I thought if I told my parents about my therapy – who were sure to disapprove because I was missing WORK and should suck it up – I would feel better.  I brought my husband.  So my parents screwed with me and were like, nice, and offered me money, which was my other worry.  So parents and part of the finance worries down, and supposedly job covered by FMLA.  No problems!

Except yeah there are because I’m still fucking anxious for some reason.  Also there is this anger that kind of takes off into near shouted expletives I normally save for my family blog here.  One group member, a guy in the military, said “Holy crap, and she’s the librarian!”  Yes, buddy, librarians have RAGE too.  And I’m not sure if there is a pill for that.  I’m not sure about anything.  Except I’ll be a group again, same time, same place this week.  I only hope the girl is there who wants to stab people in the eye with a pen.  I like her.