"I haven't given you your afternoon medicine yet, have I?" said Cindy.
Cindy pulled out the top drawer of the medicine cart and began rummaging through the countless cards of prescription meds.
"Here you go, hon." Abe swallowed the pills and washed them down with a Styrofoam cup of ice water.
"What are you taking?" I asked Abe.
"Hell, it's hard telling. They've switched my medicines around so much that I don't even ask anymore. I know one of them is an experimental drug. One of the doctors talked me in to participating in a trial. So far, nothing has been able to break the perpetual cycle ... .which doesn't surprise me. I think I'm treatment resistant."
Abe and I walked into the group room and took our seats amongst a circle of chairs. I looked around at the other patients, who seemed just as thrilled about being here as I was. One lady who looked to be in her early twenties was scratching her head violently while rocking back and forth in her chair. I noticed that she had scratched a bald spot on her head and was beginning to take skin off of her scalp. Another man talked softly to some invisible creature sitting on the floor. I could only make out a few words.
"You know that you're not supposed to go potty in the house. I've taken you out three times already, Marley."
The lady sitting next to him asked, "Can he sit and shake?"
"He can do better than that. Marley, show Suzie your tap dancing routine."
The man made rhythmic clicking sounds with his mouth, and Suzie stared intently at the spot in the floor where this invisible spectacle was taking place.
"WOW! He's really good." Suzie exclaimed.
"Well, he has a blister on his foot from the new tap shoes. Do you know how hard it is to fit him into tap shoes? His feet keep growing like turnips."
A tall man with a blue polo shirt walked into the room and stood in the center of the circle.
"How's everybody doing? My name is Paul. Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves and tell each other what we are here for."
This group had a cornucopia of mental illnesses, some people with two or three: schizophrenia, major depression, anxiety disorders, borderline personality disorder, alcoholism, and drug addiction, just to name the majority. A lot of the schizophrenics and depressives had alcohol or drug problems from attempting to self-medicate. Aside from Abe and me, there was only one other bipolar, who also had an alcohol problem. Her name was Dorothy, and her slurred speech, red face, and stretched skin were clear indications of her indulgences. She had the speech of someone who has drunk a fifth of Southern Comfort and chased it down with a few highballs.
"Thanks, everyone. Now that we all know one another, we can begin talking about today's topic: coping skills. Does anyone know what remission is?" Dorothy apprehensively raised her withered arm.
"Yes, Dorothy?"
"Is dat when ya go ta other countries and feed the poor wif Sally Struthers?" Dorothy offered in a slow and labored drawl."
"No, that's a mission." said Paul.
"I like Mission Impossible." said a scraggly faced man.
"You're impossible," exclaimed Suzie.
"All right, enough. No one knows what remission means? Let me give you a hint, it's the opposite of getting worse. Yes, Dan."
"Can I go pee?" Dan asked.
"This isn't a prison, you don't have to ask permission to use the restroom." Paul retorted.
"All right, I can see this is going nowhere. Let's switch gears and go around the room and talk about the things we have in our lives that keep us going. Mark, we'll start with you. What gets you through the hard times in your life?"
I sat impatiently in my chair as I listened to the various responses. I heard anything from family to wiffle ball as a response to Paul's question.
"What keeps you waking up in the morning?" Paul asked me.
I replied quickly. "My wonderful wife, my family, and my job."
"Great! It's so vital to have people in your life that you are close too." said Paul.
"What about you Abe? What is it that helps you through the difficult times?
Abe looked around the room and then stared at the floor for a moment. "The only thing I have left in this world ... my rabbit, Snickers, but I'll lose him soon, too. I've got no one to take care of him, and he hasn't eaten in a week."
"Surely you have someone or something else in your life?" Paul questioned.
"No wife, no kids, no job, no family ... just Snickers."
"Well that's too bad." replied Paul, without even a hint of sympathy.
