I attended the Bipolar Support Group last night, expecting answers, and instead found a group of jovial eccentrics mostly wanting to be understood.
The mincing gay man, with protruding stomach fat that I tried to ignore, but found my eyes drawn to over and over again. I don't know what it is about me, but if some has a particularly unusual physical flaw, like a lazy eye or a large mole, it will hypnotize me and I'll stare at it over and over again. He is a Shelby County country boy who presented his homosexuality and his relationship and partner of fifteen years, in an apologetic fashion, which really annoys me...because I wish people didn't feel compelled to apologize for being the way that they are. My gaydar must have been working extremely well because I knew he was queer before he even opened his mouth. Maybe it was the way he looked at me as he introduced himself, or maybe it was his manner of presentation.
The extremely extroverted blonde, who wore blue pleather pants and sandals with no socks. She was the sort of woman who loudly points out the physical attractiveness of men and purposely draws attention to herself. I found myself trying to draw a monopoly of her focus, but found that she delegates it across the room to her favorites but to no one in particular. You almost wonder if she's a real person sometimes, beneath the superficial jocularity. I found myself being annoyed that I found her so entrancing. It's so obvious that one would be attracted to her, and I had the feeling that she's not someone you'd really want to have any sort of partnership with for very long. She point out that she has never been married and instead has cats.
The shaved-head good-natured late-thirties man who reminds one of a camp counselor or a rock climbing instructor. One gets the feeling that he's the ideal best friend in all situations: faithful, steady, and self-deprecating. A schizophrenic, he remarked casually that the medication he takes for his condition renders him so drowsy that it's only around this time in the day, (it was around seven in the evening by this point), that he even began to wake up. Most of his comments centered on his obsessive, controlling mother and hedonistic older brother.
The faux-redhead, early middle-aged female came in tow with her bald, mole-faced husband. She dressed as though she had mistaken the group for a luau party and wore turquoise capris pants. The lack of a babysitter for their uh-oh newborn child necessitated their early departure from the group. The husband said not much. She talked mostly about her hatred for her mother and intense love of her father.
The African-American man, close to my age, talked about his inability to get a passing grade in one of his education classes. The blonde flirted with him shamelessly, and chided him playfully for picking up women over the Internet. The most interesting thing he mentioned was a domineering father who devalued him for not having enough sex or relationships, and routinely checked his box of condoms to make sure he was using enough of them.
An immensely introverted brunette in her early thirties seemed to almost want to shrink into her chair. She dressed like a sorority honey, in department story fancy, and was the picture of quiet desperation. She made few remarks, and almost seemed to apologize for the fact that she was even there. She revealed that she had no friends and had recently gotten out of the hospital and had been through a series of electro-shock therapy treatments, and as a result couldn't think clearly. Her few slight efforts towards relating her personal situations towards the group were made with such timidity and lack of conviction that they made me uncomfortable.
The ironies among so many ironies was that she obviously held herself accountable for turning friends away when she had so many. She struck me as the sort of milquetoast person who accumulates many superficial acquaintances mostly for her ability to not question or judge, but as such, forms few, if any, real friends.
She shyly introduced herself after the group meeting, in the style of people who envy and hero-worship those who they see as possessing the sort of self-confidence they lack. She told of a mother who screamed and screeched and threw things and then next proceeded to tell me that she was sexually abused by her father.
It was tough to get a read off of the moderator. A male in his early-thirties, who had a tight, pursed smile and a shock of wavy hair. About the only thing of note he mentioned was if I don't take my medication, I will die, a statement that deeply upset the homosexual man, who turned away from the group, cowered, swiveling in his chair...a brief moment of over-acting.
Two other women...
The teetering, heavily clumsy geriatric with salt and pepper hair and predictable squeeze paint lettering T-shirt remarked at some length about anger management issues-- talked about how she had a bad habit of losing her temper at inappropriate times and was in danger of being permanently banned from her diner.
The country grandma, who wore a long, flowing skirt and rambled incoherently, then apologized for doing so, apparently aware of the fact. She mentioned the phrase, allusions of grandeur which, when defined, created more hand wringing in the homosexual man.
And me? Well, I immediately started scoping out candidates for a dysfunctional sexual relationship. The moderator, who I got an extremely strong homosexual vibe off of, was one possibility. Another was the extremely vulnerable and agreeable female. I couldn't quite say much for the blonde. She seemed like the sort of person who would tease you uncontrollably and not really commit to much.
Granted, this really wasn't so much therapy, as this was an outlet for my sex addiction.
The mincing gay man, with protruding stomach fat that I tried to ignore, but found my eyes drawn to over and over again. I don't know what it is about me, but if some has a particularly unusual physical flaw, like a lazy eye or a large mole, it will hypnotize me and I'll stare at it over and over again. He is a Shelby County country boy who presented his homosexuality and his relationship and partner of fifteen years, in an apologetic fashion, which really annoys me...because I wish people didn't feel compelled to apologize for being the way that they are. My gaydar must have been working extremely well because I knew he was queer before he even opened his mouth. Maybe it was the way he looked at me as he introduced himself, or maybe it was his manner of presentation.
The extremely extroverted blonde, who wore blue pleather pants and sandals with no socks. She was the sort of woman who loudly points out the physical attractiveness of men and purposely draws attention to herself. I found myself trying to draw a monopoly of her focus, but found that she delegates it across the room to her favorites but to no one in particular. You almost wonder if she's a real person sometimes, beneath the superficial jocularity. I found myself being annoyed that I found her so entrancing. It's so obvious that one would be attracted to her, and I had the feeling that she's not someone you'd really want to have any sort of partnership with for very long. She point out that she has never been married and instead has cats.
The shaved-head good-natured late-thirties man who reminds one of a camp counselor or a rock climbing instructor. One gets the feeling that he's the ideal best friend in all situations: faithful, steady, and self-deprecating. A schizophrenic, he remarked casually that the medication he takes for his condition renders him so drowsy that it's only around this time in the day, (it was around seven in the evening by this point), that he even began to wake up. Most of his comments centered on his obsessive, controlling mother and hedonistic older brother.
The faux-redhead, early middle-aged female came in tow with her bald, mole-faced husband. She dressed as though she had mistaken the group for a luau party and wore turquoise capris pants. The lack of a babysitter for their uh-oh newborn child necessitated their early departure from the group. The husband said not much. She talked mostly about her hatred for her mother and intense love of her father.
The African-American man, close to my age, talked about his inability to get a passing grade in one of his education classes. The blonde flirted with him shamelessly, and chided him playfully for picking up women over the Internet. The most interesting thing he mentioned was a domineering father who devalued him for not having enough sex or relationships, and routinely checked his box of condoms to make sure he was using enough of them.
An immensely introverted brunette in her early thirties seemed to almost want to shrink into her chair. She dressed like a sorority honey, in department story fancy, and was the picture of quiet desperation. She made few remarks, and almost seemed to apologize for the fact that she was even there. She revealed that she had no friends and had recently gotten out of the hospital and had been through a series of electro-shock therapy treatments, and as a result couldn't think clearly. Her few slight efforts towards relating her personal situations towards the group were made with such timidity and lack of conviction that they made me uncomfortable.
The ironies among so many ironies was that she obviously held herself accountable for turning friends away when she had so many. She struck me as the sort of milquetoast person who accumulates many superficial acquaintances mostly for her ability to not question or judge, but as such, forms few, if any, real friends.
She shyly introduced herself after the group meeting, in the style of people who envy and hero-worship those who they see as possessing the sort of self-confidence they lack. She told of a mother who screamed and screeched and threw things and then next proceeded to tell me that she was sexually abused by her father.
It was tough to get a read off of the moderator. A male in his early-thirties, who had a tight, pursed smile and a shock of wavy hair. About the only thing of note he mentioned was if I don't take my medication, I will die, a statement that deeply upset the homosexual man, who turned away from the group, cowered, swiveling in his chair...a brief moment of over-acting.
Two other women...
The teetering, heavily clumsy geriatric with salt and pepper hair and predictable squeeze paint lettering T-shirt remarked at some length about anger management issues-- talked about how she had a bad habit of losing her temper at inappropriate times and was in danger of being permanently banned from her diner.
The country grandma, who wore a long, flowing skirt and rambled incoherently, then apologized for doing so, apparently aware of the fact. She mentioned the phrase, allusions of grandeur which, when defined, created more hand wringing in the homosexual man.
And me? Well, I immediately started scoping out candidates for a dysfunctional sexual relationship. The moderator, who I got an extremely strong homosexual vibe off of, was one possibility. Another was the extremely vulnerable and agreeable female. I couldn't quite say much for the blonde. She seemed like the sort of person who would tease you uncontrollably and not really commit to much.
Granted, this really wasn't so much therapy, as this was an outlet for my sex addiction.