Group Therapy

Group Therapy

There is no great genius without some touch of madness. Seneca

A motley collection of souls sat in a lopsided circle, perched on plastic chairs. Some leaned back, an air of relaxed aloofness exuding from their pores. Others were less comfortable; their legs jiggling incessantly like the flare from an oil rig, burning off excess energy. Some twisted their bodies into awkward shapes, rubbing their heads and fiddling with their hair or faces. Others tapped on various body parts with an obsessive intensity, drumming out their emotions in morse code.

Only one seemed focused, collected and purposeful. She wore a crisp white outfit, and held a clipboard in her hand. She was jotting down unseen notes with a furious intensity, something that only added to the agitation of the more highly-strung in the group. After a while she looked up, and spoke with a confidence that only comes with many mental rehearsals.

“Right folks, welcome to today’s group therapy session. Some of you, I see, are new faces. Others already know each other, and me, very well. Fear not, though, if you are new. We are very welcoming and we certainly don’t bite.” She smiled at the group, attempting to inject as much warmth into the expression as she could muster.

“Now, I’ve never particularly enjoyed the whole introduction thing. What’s your name, where do you come from? These things by themselves tell you very little about a person. If you wish to inform the group of these niceties, then feel free. But, do it in the process of answering the question I am going to set you all today.” She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the room, pausing mostly for effect. She liked to think of herself as a great orator.

“That question is fairly broad. What I, and the other members of the group, are going to be interested in today is you. My question for you all today is: What are your hopes, your aspirations? Where do you see yourself in the years to come?” She sat forward, working to persuade the onlookers of her own interest in the subject, in the hope that others would follow suit.

“Graham,” she began, fixing the nervous man to her right with a purposeful gaze, “I think we will start with you today.”

The squat figure shifted anxiously in his seat, his hand rising to his face and massaging his chin.

“Why, w-w-why is it always me first?” His massaging was gradually growing in ferocity.

“Because you always sit right next to me, Graham,” she replied, “now, what do you want to do with your life?”

He sat for a moment, rubbing away at his face as though trying to remove some unsightly stain. Then his hand dropped to his lap, and he began to speak.

“Well, I-i-i have a lot of ideas I suppose,” his faltering voice whispered, “but the one I like the best just came to me this morning.”

'Indeed,” the Doctor responded, an imitation of interest conveyed by her whole demeanour, “well, that is convenient. Please continue.”

Graham smiled widely, and spat out, “what I-i-i am supposed to do is write the greatest story mankind has ever read. It will be about aliens, and they will come down, and make everyone happy, and there will be no war, and I will be their interpreter.”

His slate-grey eyes focused on the Doctor, screaming hopefully for approval.

“That's an interesting idea Graham,” the Doctor,”but don't you think that it's a bit far-fetched?”

This was a rhetorical question, as Graham could tell by the way she barely paused for breath before continuing.

“Don't you think that it's better to think in the short term?” She raised an eyebrow, “perhaps consider, I don't know, working in a shop?”

For a moment, Graham's shoulders sank towards the floor, closely followed by his eyes. Disappointment enveloped his soul, and spread throughout his whole posture. He quickly resigned himself to the truth in the Doctor's opinion and returned to his usual whisper.

“Yeah, I suppose you're right.”

“Good. Now, Brian, what are you interested in?”

“Pyramids,” replied the behemoth of a man dwarfing the chair to Graham's right. The most adventurous strands of Graham's unruly, grey-streaked mop barely reached the bottom of the wild tufts of jet-black hair protruding from Brian's chin.

“Really, pyramids?” the doctor strained to look impressed, “perhaps you could study Egyptology, or move to Egypt and become a tour guide?”

“Nah, not ones in Egypt. I wanna build one 'ere. In the hospital gardens.” Brian leaned back and stretched out his legs, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. His chair groaned agonisingly under the strain.

The Doctor looked perplexed. She rubbed her temples for a moment, then she muttered exasperatedly, “why on earth would you want to do that Brian?”

“Well, I suppose I'm not quite sure really. Just read a lot about them, and about how they are positioned on these lines on the Earth. They're supposed to be some kind of energy focusing machine or something. Noticed one of those lines goes right through the hospital gardens, and I thought it would be fun to give it a go.” He sat back again, and again the chair strained to breaking point. He was glowing with excitement.

“Really Brian, I don't think reading about that kind of thing is good for you. You are in a fragile state of mind and you need to focus on the real world.” Again the Doctor stabbed her notepad with her pencil.

Brian hunched forward, the smile left his face, and a cold-blankness came over his eyes.

“Ok, so who's next?” She looked to the man to Brian's right.

“I don't believe you've been to one of these sessions before. Start by telling us your name."

The young blond man shifted anxiously in his seat. His thin frame shook slightly with nervous energy as he spoke.

“I'm Craig.” The words came so quickly that they almost blended together.

The Doctor smiled hopefully.

“Craig, are you happy to share with the group?”

Craig sat forward in the chair, body still shuddering enough for it to be perceptible. He spoke again, the words seeming to merge into one long barrage.

“Sure. Why not? I'm happy enough where I am at the moment. I'd be happy enough anywhere. What does it matter where I'm kept when I can do anything I want in my mind? I can fly, travel anywhere, talk to anyone, alive or dead. I can do literally anything you or I could think of.”

The Doctor's mouth dropped open slightly. She paused for a moment, this time not for effect.

“Craig, what you have to remember is, none of that is real. What you do in your head doesn't matter. The only place that matters is the real world, out here. And if you want to get back out in the world, you're going to have to start coming out of your head. You seem like a clever guy. Haven't you ever thought about going to university? You could do history, perhaps?”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow again, and Craig lost focus and drifted back into a trance with his head in his hands. The Doctor's pencil scratched on the notepad.

"Now, Jimmy, you're next." The Doctor looked sternly at the shifting figure in the next chair.

Jimmy shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. His head bobbed back and forth with a monotonous rhythm and his leg mimicked the motion at double-speed. After a time, he turned to face the Doctor. His hands gripped the metal poles that kept his plastic perch aloft. His leg had finally stopped shaking.

“I would like to drive a bus.”

“Very good Jimmy, that's an excellent idea for a job.” The Doctor smiled and moved on. A bloated man in an ill-fitting tracksuit ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully.

“I think being a postie would be a nae bad job.”

“Yes, that's an excellent idea. A job for life, and you get to be outdoors, meeting people.” The Doctor's gaze moved to the woman who was next in line.

“And what would you like to do Karen?”

The overweight woman looked nervously to her left, then back to her right. She found no comfort in either direction. She finally fixed on a point just above the Doctor's head and spoke in a confident voice.

“I want to work on a farm.”

The Doctor looked comfortingly at her.

“Sounds like a sensible plan, you would get some good exercise from that, certainly.”

The Doctor shifted her gaze to the next man.

“Hi, another newbie,” she grinned, “tell us your name, and then what you will do when you get out of here.”

“I'm Tom, and I'm going to be a bus driver.” Tom folded his hands together, and stared straight at the Doctor.

“I already said that one. You have to have your own idea, stop stealing mine,” Jimmy roared

The two bus drivers stood up, and paced angrily toward each other, eyes blazing.

“I'm sure you can both be bus drivers.” The Doctor smiled at the two burly men, and they softened and sat back down.

“So," The Doctor began, glancing at her watch, “I think that will do for today. Well done everybody. I'll see you all next week.”

The Group stood up and calmly made their way out of the drab room. None passed so much as a glance to each other, or the Doctor..

The Doctor remained for a moment, thinking to herself. She smiled, and knew she had done a good job.