I sat on the hard chair in the group room. It was always held in this building that had a ton of stuff, government offices and AA meetings and support groups, which this was, I guessed.
I had my little rubber band around my wrist and gave it the occasional snap. Cutting myself had become this addiction. I craved the sharp pain, the beading up of the line of blood. Some theorized that the reason for cutting was to release the natural endorphins, the body's pain killers. I thought maybe I wanted my outside to look as damaged as the inside. I could thrust out my arm with all the tiny cuts, the deep slash marks, the bruises, and say, 'look, look…' But I never did that. I wore long sleeves to keep it hidden. Maybe it was just for me, just so I would have proof that I was in pain.
I stared at Craig sitting in the circle across from me. He was getting a little more used to coming here. Coming here became its own sort of addiction. He wasn't completely comfortable with it, though. Not yet. I could tell by the way he kept his head down, the way he fiddled with the material of his shirt. Ashley had made him come here. Well, she "suggested" it. But didn't she know that he was at the point of doing whatever she said? That he was lost and if she said, 'do this,' he would? She didn't realize that. Ashley didn't realize a lot of things because she was so together. She had her shit together. In a way she was blessed with this solid upbringing and an unflawed mind. It made it so I couldn't stand her sometimes.
I shook my head. Ashley was my friend. It wasn't her fault things had gone right for her anymore than it was our fault things had gone so wrong. I was trying so hard not to judge people. That was hard for me. I liked to critique everyone within a fifty mile radius, but it was wrong. It was wrong because I didn't know the whole truth about them, I didn't know what brave face they were showing to the world. I shouldn't be judging their façade, not when I had my own. The cracks in it were their business, not mine.
Like Craig. I didn't know he was so flawed. I had thought he was just this popular rock star kind of kid drifting through life and cheating on all his girlfriends. That didn't really impress me. Now, looking at him across the circle, knowing about how he beat up his step-father, and knowing that that upset him so much because his own father used to beat him and was he like him? Knowing how his thoughts had been racing and all the ideas were glittering just out of his reach, knowing how everything had started to unravel and he'd chased the string until he landed in the psych ward shot up with powerful sedatives. Knowing that this present calmness was a result of a powerful regimen of psych drugs. It made me like him more, to be truthful. I was always more comfortable around someone if I knew where the chink in the armor was.
Dr. Kendrick was our powerful leader. He held this endless cup of coffee between both hands, and he regarded us all like we were his grandchildren, or flowers in his flower bed. Dr. Kendrick looked like he had no neck, and this somehow gave him a wise air, like Yoda. Someone who was old enough to be crippled by it must know something. What did he think of us? Of Nicole, the anorexic? She was a little better, although her weight did fluctuate between 80 and 100 pounds. When she was at 100 she was healthier. She had arms like windshield wipers. Sallow sunken cheeks and yellowish skin. Every bone was still prominent. Her eyes were huge. I sometimes wondered about her resolve. How could someone just stop eating? What drove them to such deprivation? And Kyle, the other bipolar. His story was similar to Craig's, I supposed. Shrieking to touch the sky and then landing in a psych ward. And then there was me. Little daughter of an alcoholic, cutter extraordinaire.
"Craig, how are you doing?" Dr. Kendrick said, moving himself and his coffee closer to where Craig was sitting.
"Okay," Craig answered, his voice thick, and his eyes were still lost. Lost. I glanced over his head at the clock on the wall, keeping time. I knew how it was to be lost. I knew how it was to want to drag a razor across the skin just to feel something. I knew how it was to watch my mother suspiciously for signs of drinking. Was she staggering? Was her speech slurred? Did her eyes looked funny and glazed?
"How are things at home?" He was still talking to Craig, and I could see this look in Craig's eyes like he didn't want to be answering any more questions. I guessed he probably had his fair share of questions in the hospital. Everyone tries to help. I bit my lip. No one could help, not really. Sometimes it's better to be silent, to be alone, to curl up with it and keep it, your pain, your hurt, something just for you.
"Good," Craig looked down, twisting the material of his long sleeve shirt between his thumb and index finger. I noticed the contrast of his dark hair and pale skin. I swallowed. No. I wouldn't like Craig. I couldn't. I couldn't do that to Ashley. He was just another troubled soul who had drifted into my group. He didn't know the wonders Dr. Kendrick could do with a damaged mind.
"Okay," Dr. Kendrick said, realizing that that was all Craig could take. He was wise. Wise as Yoda, as Mr. Myagi. His iron gray hair and faded blue eyes were testament to that. I swung my legs and snapped my rubber band and waited for him to come over to me. I remembered the drawn out process we'd had, when I wouldn't speak at all. How could I speak with the black smoke filling my lungs?
"Ellie?" he said, and I smiled a little, and looked at Craig's head bent down, his chin almost resting on his chest.
"How are you?" I looked at the pale yellow ceramic coffee cup in Dr. Kendrick's hands. It was about due for a refill.
"Pretty good," Sure. I was pretty good. I lived on my own, but I had really been on my own for years. It was nice, too. At least I knew no one would disturb me with their drunken drama, and no one would be all tearful about things they couldn't change. When I was home and it was still and quiet no one could change that.
Craig looked up at me while I was speaking and I almost caught my breath when I saw his wide hazel eyes. I saw the dark curls against his white neck. I noticed the shape of his fingernails, the shape of his lips. Shit. I was falling. I knew it. This was how I fell. Ashley would kill me.