Not a single cloud was in the sky when we arrived outside, the beautiful mountain landscape bathed in the orange glow of the early morning sun. Though with the chill that still lingered in the air, I wished we had been allowed to bring a warm beverage outside with us.
Daxton and Jessica sat on one of the benches near the center of the courtyard, speaking quietly with one another as we approached. I felt my chest tighten at seeing himagain, the rest of the group fading into the background of my mind. He had always looked breathtakingly good, like he should be on the cover of a sports magazine advertising underwear, or something just as objectifying.
The thought of him shirtless had my body reacting in ways I didn’t think were possible after everything that had happened with Craig, especially this close after his hands had attempted to take my life. With my arms crossed against my chest, I dug my fingers from my left hand into the wounds on my right arm as hard as I could stand it through the bandage. Surely the sharp pain would help calm my mind and help me think a little more rationally with the bandages protecting the stitches against my fingers. I bit down on my lower lip quietly as the pain helped ground me into the present, taking me out of the imaginary little dream world I so longed to get lost in.
“Good morning, everyone,” Jessica greeted as she and Daxton stood up. “I’m happy you all could join us out here on this lovely day. If you could, please follow us, we’re going to do our session a bit unorthodox this morning.”
Cindy started passing out blankets she had brought with us outside, handing one to each patient and both therapists. She hung back at one of the benches, perching her clipboard on her knees as the therapists started leading the group to a flat grassy area between the courtyard and the woods.
I reminded myself to stay focused, not giving in to the tempting thoughts that had nothing to do with therapy, and let Kendi loop her arm with mine, leading me along with the rest of the group. It wasn’t the time or the place to get lost in my head. Keeping my left hand clamped painfully around my right wasn’t an obtainable task, as Jessica instructed us to form a circle with our individual blankets.
Hesitantly, I released my arm and unfolded mine, shaking it out in a spot between Kendi and Andrew before sitting cross-legged in the center of it. Daxton and Jessica sat directly across from the three of us, Thelma sitting to their left and Tyson to their right. Behind them, the early morning light shimmered between the branches of the trees, making shadows wave between them, coming and going like a hypnotizing game of hide and seek.
Mature trees with dark bark covering their branches were reaching for the sky, grasping to obtain the same independence that no doubt all the patients here longed for as well. A gentle breeze picked up a colorful mix of fallen leaves, a cacophony of reds, browns, oranges, and yellows swirled around our group as Jessica got started with the topics for the day.
“We are going to discuss how to improve our communication skills and how to build a stable support system outside of the clinic today,” She started, glancing over at Daxton to continue.
“We typically stress support systems for anyone struggling with an addiction, but with the right support, it can help with any formof mental illness,” He continued for her, his deep voice dominating the conversation without effort. “Unlike with programs like AA, which helps set you up with sponsors, it’s up to you to make connections for support systems; that’s where communication comes in.”
“How many of you have a decent support system outside of the clinic with peers that are judgment-free?” Jessica inquired, looking hopefully at our group.
Raising my hand, I glanced around the circle. Other than myself, the only other ones who raised their hands were Kendi and Tyson. Andrew never glanced up from his hands where he was focused on picking at his nails, his unruly curly hair obscuring his eyes from view. Thelma didn’t look ashamed that her hands were still at her sides. She had spoken before that, due to her addiction, she’d lost a lot with her family.
“What’s your support system like, Tyson?” Daxton questioned, the dark skinned man raising his head to look at the therapist. Typically, Tyson didn’t speak much. Kendi had explained to me that his medication for schizophrenia made him so relaxed he was almost always in a zombie-like state as they tried to adjust his dosage.
“My wife, she’s been my biggest support since-” His eyes were glazed over thanks to his medication, his focus going in and out as he lost his train of thought.
“Since when?” Jessican prompted gently.
It took him a moment to reel himself back in from a place none of us could see, “Since we got together, almost ten years ago.”
“Did she know about your diagnosis then?” Daxton asked.
“Uh, yeah, she did. She’s always been supportive, even when the meds stop helping and I, uh,” he hesitated, “start having issues again.”
“That’s good, Tyson. That’s really good that she’s been by your side through everything,” Jessica praised him for speaking out, seeming to sense that he was starting to drift back off into his own little world as she switched focus to someone else. “Kendi, what about you? What’s your support like at home?”
“It’s wonderful, my entire family has always been there for me,” she said happily.
“That’s good to hear, Kendi. What about you, Raelynn?” Daxton asked, his gaze making my face heat.
“I have my sister, that's about it,” I said, refusing to back down from his intense dark eyes. I should cower, I should be meek, I should be concerned about what made him enthralled by my dark fantasies, but I couldn’t help but want to rise to the challenge as I pushed my nerves so far down I could pretend they didn’t exist.
“So most of you have relied on family as a support system. What makes you hesitate about reaching out to anyone else to add to it?” Even though Jessica was speaking, Daxton's gaze remained on me as she spoke.
“Judgment,” said Thelma, tucking short strands of her gray hair behind her ears.
“What are some things you’re afraid of being judged about?” Asked Daxton, finally glancing over at my older hallmate. Though my cheeks still felt hot even with his eyes no longer on me.
“If someone hasn’t been through addiction or struggled with a problem like we have, they might view it as a weakness,” Thelma elaborated on her statement with confidence.
“That’s a valid fear. Unfortunately, one that a lot of people have given us, intentionally or not, a reason to be afraid of. It’s hard to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, especially when the taboo nature of mental illness and addiction draws unwanted negative energy and can make you almost like a social pariah even in today's society.” Daxton uncrossed his legs as he spoke, stretching his long limbs out before him while he leaned back on his arms, his biceps bulging in his black sweater.
“What would be a good way to try and overcome this?” Jessica looked around the group for someone who hadn’t yet spoken. When no one started volunteering their thoughts, she asked Kendi if she had any suggestions to share.
“Maybe try to find people with common interests? Building rapport and a level of trust before branching out to topics that might be uncomfortable to approach with a complete stranger?” She didn’t sound extremely sure of her responses. From our previousconversations, her friend group wasn’t aware of her issues, just like my friends from work were in the dark about my past.
“Not bad ideas, it’s definitely easier talking about the harder topics once you’ve built a good foundation for a relationship with someone.” Jessica said positively, “Does anyone else have any ideas?”
