10. Group Therapy
10
GROUP THERAPY
S ummer kept thinking about how concerned Brandon had been after the fireworks. It felt good to know he was there to be her support and friend. She appreciated that he hadn’t pushed her to pick up where they’d left off so long ago as his girlfriend, even though he didn’t hide that he hoped they’d eventually move in that direction. He was patient but honest. That helped her consider his advice about a veteran’s group more easily.
She called her therapist after their hike, and he found a group for her in Burlington. They were meeting that night, and she decided to go. She couldn’t figure out what she wanted from Brandon until she’d figured out what she wanted from herself, and she hoped this group therapy would help her figure that out.
So, later that night, Summer found herself in Burlington at a small community center. She walked into the assigned room and glanced around. The room wasn’t huge, but the walls were drab cement blocks painted white, except for one wall that had a mural of a garden and a giant butterfly. A couple of veterans sat in a circle of chairs, and a table sat off to one side with treats and coffee on it. As she took a seat, she felt a mixture of apprehension and relief. She was taking control of another aspect of her life .
“Welcome, everyone.” A woman stood by a chair. Her brown hair was cut short and sprinkled with gray, but her face was baby-smooth, making it hard to guess her age. “My name is Dr. Carter, but everyone calls me Fiona. I’ll lead our discussion tonight. Feel free to grab snacks, coffee, or soda before we start.”
No one moved. After a moment, Fiona sighed and took her seat.
“One of these days, you’ll relax.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We have a new visitor tonight, so let’s go around and introduce ourselves. I served in the Navy as a corpsman. When I got out, I returned to school for a psychology degree, and here I am.”
She nodded to the man beside her. He looked to be about thirty, the same age as Summer. The patchy whiteness of severe burns marred his warm brown skin. He was missing two fingers when he held up his hand to wave.
“My name is James. I was an explosives specialist in the Marines.” He wiggled his fingers. “It didn’t end well.”
The others chuckled when he did, but Summer sucked in a breath. She could imagine his pain since she had also been burned, but she wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet. Would she get to that point eventually? Was that what happened when you joined other veterans for counseling?
The next man was older and had served in the Army, but he didn’t add anything to that. Two other men introduced themselves, then the other woman in the group spoke up. She was pretty, petite, and looked to be of Hispanic descent. Her soft brown hair curled around her shoulders.
“My name is Maria. I served in the Army until I was captured in Afghanistan. I was honorably discharged after my rescue.” She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Instead, she focused on the floor or the shoulder of the person she faced.
No one smiled after Maria’s introduction. Everyone in that room knew what sort of treatment a woman could face as a prisoner, especially in Afghanistan. The fact she was alive was a miracle.
Fiona pointed to Summer .
“I’m Summer. Army. Recently discharged.” She didn’t know what else to add since she didn’t know these people yet.
“We’re glad you’re here, Summer. Hopefully, you’ll feel comfortable sharing your struggles so we can support you. Everyone here suffers from some form of PTSD, and we all deal with it differently. We meet once a week to talk about it, how we’re coping, and celebrate our successes.”
Summer nodded and tried to smile. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” Fiona clapped her hands, and several members jumped. “Sorry. Who would like to start us out tonight?”
Summer listened as people shared parts of their stories, triggers, and how they dealt with them. Some talked about the nightmares that haunted their sleep, vivid flashbacks of war tearing through their minds like a relentless storm. Others shared stories of panic attacks triggered by sudden noises or crowded spaces.
As they spoke, Summer felt a sense of solidarity wash over her. These people understood the weight of her burden and shared in her pain. If they could find ways to work through their issues, she could, too.
A guy named Dave talked about how the sound of helicopters triggered memories of evacuations and rescue missions, sending his heart racing. He spoke of the nightmares that plagued his sleep, leaving him exhausted and drained, and how he had found solace in meditation, learning to ground himself in the present moment when the memories threatened to overwhelm him.
Maria shared how small or cluttered spaces triggered intense feelings of anxiety and claustrophobia. Her face turned red as she admitted that she still shied away from Middle Eastern men.
“I know they aren’t all like the men who held me captive, but—” Maria shuddered. “My body reacts before my mind can convince it not to be afraid. I don’t want to be this person.”
Fiona asked, “What are you doing to help in these situations?”
Maria’s laugh was harsh. “At first, I hid at home, but that didn’t help. Now, I practice deep breathing exercises when I’m in public places. I also go to several support groups and private therapy. I’m working on cognitive restructuring to assess the situation instead of the nationality of the people around me so that I can feel safer.”
“That’s excellent, Maria.” Fiona reached over and patted the woman’s leg. “Keep us posted on how that works for you. It might be helpful to others here.”
Summer wondered what restructuring entailed. She joined the Army to feel safer, but now she was a civilian. There would need to be something else for her to hold onto.
“Summer, would you like to share anything? It doesn’t have to be much. Maybe tell us why you needed to seek a group therapy session,” Fiona asked.
“I’ve been in private therapy for six months, and I thought I was doing okay,” Summer said. Griff had been quiet all night, but he snickered at her statement. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “But the fireworks the other night sent me into a panic. I couldn’t breathe. All I could see and hear was that night.”
“Can you tell us about it?” Fiona prompted.
“Our convoy was ambushed. We were hit. Griff. The others.” Summer’s heart raced with the memory, and her breaths came in short bursts. She shook her head as she struggled to calm down and find the words. “Only a few of us survived. On the Fourth, the lights and explosions took me back. Luckily, a friend realized what was happening and got me out of there. He stayed with me, and we talked. He suggested a group might be beneficial.”
James touched Summer’s arm. “Fireworks get to a lot of us. There’s no shame. I’ve learned to hide in my basement on the Fourth and New Year’s.”
“Sounds like your friend knew what he was doing,” Maria said.
Summer tried to ignore Griff when he added, “Brandon is tuned into you, Summer. That’s why you need him.”
The discussion continued with others sharing recent events and how they worked through them. Summer felt a sense of gratitude wash over her as the session drew to a close. She had found a community—a safe space where she could share her struggles and know that she was not alone in her journey toward healing. Looking around, she wondered if she could ask the question that had haunted her for months.
“Any last thoughts?” Fiona asked.
Summer raised her hand.
"I have a question," Summer began tentatively. "I was wondering... has anyone seen anything weird?”
“How do you mean?” Fiona asked.
“Um, people no one else can see.” Summer ducked her head.
The room fell silent, each veteran exchanging curious glances until James cleared his throat and spoke up. "Like ghosts of fallen comrades?"
“Yeah. Those who didn’t make it.” Summer nodded and tried not to look at Griff, who had fully materialized in the chair beside Fiona.
James’ voice was measured and solemn. "I've never seen a ghost, but I've felt their presence," he said quietly, his eyes distant with memory. "Sometimes in the dead of night, when the nightmares are at their worst, I swear someone is watching over me."
David nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I haven't seen any, but there have been moments when I felt like someone stayed with me through the worst nightmares,” he admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Summer hedged, suddenly feeling like she should have kept quiet. Her conversations with Griff were a sign she was crazy.
“Summer, this is a safe place.” Fiona waved around the room. “We’ve all experienced things that others can’t begin to understand. It changes us in different ways. There will be no judgment here.”
“We’re here for you,” James added while the others nodded in agreement.
“Thanks. It’s just that my first therapist was worried about some things,” Summer hedged.
“Might as well get it out, Summer,” Griff said. “If anyone will understand, it’s these guys.”
Summer sighed. Everyone stared at her, but it felt like they were on her side. “Griff was my best friend. He was in the Humvee with me but didn’t make it. The doctors said he died instantly, but I remember talking to him. I held him while he died.”
There were nods around the room.
“That’s hard,” James whispered.
“And sometimes, I still see and hear him. Not a memory, but my friend, encouraging me to get back to living.” Summer stared at her hands, unsure if she wanted to see the others’ expressions.
“Do you worry about this?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah. It’s not normal,” Summer answered.
“Does his appearance feel malicious?” Fiona continued with another question.
“No, not at all. He can be pushy when he thinks I’m avoiding my family or friends, but his goal seems to be my happiness.”
The others smiled as if she hadn’t admitted to talking to a ghost. James relaxed his shoulders.
Maria met Summer’s gaze. “It sounds like you’re lucky.”
Fiona jumped in next. “Griff could be your coping mechanism for the moment. You need someone you trust to tell you everything will be okay. Our minds are amazing machines, and they are capable of so much. Perhaps you’ve brought him back so you can listen to him instead of making decisions about things.” Fiona leaned forward. “I wouldn’t worry about it yet. Let’s see what happens as you settle into civilian life and put more distance between your triggering event.”
“Okay.”
Fiona wrapped up the meeting and pointed to a table in the back. “Please, at least take a cupcake home with you. I can’t keep eating them by myself.”
Summer wandered to the table to grab a cupcake and a soda for the drive home. James approached her.
“He’s here with you now, isn’t he?”
Summer met his gaze. The man’s wistful look made her want to be honest.
“Yeah. He’s always with me.”
“I could feel him when you came in tonight, but I didn’t know who he was with. Ever since my accident,” he wiggled his fingers, “I’ve been different. I don’t usually tell people, but you were brave enough to bring it up. Near-death experiences are life-altering. I think that’s why I sense things sometimes. Your ghost loves you and wants the best for you, but he doesn’t belong here. I get the sense he’s being pulled in two directions.”
“Griff?” Summer gasped.
Griff shrugged. “He’s not wrong, but I’m not leaving until you make up with Brandon.”
Summer asked James, “What do I do to help him?”
“I don’t know, but he probably does. Listen to him.”
“See,” Griff said, “I told you I was on top of this.”
“Great, now he’s got an even bigger head,” Summer grumbled.
James laughed. “Good luck, Summer. I hope we see you next week.”