Chapter Five
This place is a dump.
I hung back outside the door of yet another dingy room, in yet another stifling community centre, and watched as people of all shapes and sizes walked past me, some with a flicker of interest, most with friendly smiles.
I watched as they cheerfully greeted one another, feet scuffing on worn Berber carpet, claiming seats on chairs the colour of safety pylons. Did all of these groups have orange plastic chairs? Was it in a handbook or something?
I watched as the last couple of people walked into the room: both women in their twenties, both blonde and perky. Both with the wherewithal to start conquering their demons before completely wasting their youth.
I took a deep breath and walked into the room, grabbing a stale muffin off the grey plastic table on my way to one of the folding chairs. As much as I wanted to spin around on my strappy sandal heel and never come back, I made myself sit, tore off a piece of the muffin and popped it into my mouth.
Gross, raisins.
Off to a great start,I thought, forcing myself to swallow the mouthful and then setting the muffin down on the floor.
As much as I knew I needed to be here, as much as I’d promised Kate and Ben, I would have much preferred to be lying on my couch right now, pretending my brain wasn’t heavy with depression, that my hands weren’t shaking so much I had to tuck them under my thighs, that I really, really wanted a drink.
“Thanks for joining us, everyone.” A friendly looking woman who looked to be in her late fifties stood at the front of the room, and everyone quieted down. “We have some new people here today.” She looked in my direction and gave me a warm smile. “Welcome, I’m Corie.”
I nodded in acknowledgment and tried to smile back at the woman I assumed was Quinn’s friend. She had none of the flamboyant brightness of my new favourite colleague—comfortably neutral in her beige yoga pants and light brown T-shirt—but her kind eyes gave her away as someone who could be worthy of Quinn’s recommendation.
“Did you want to introduce yourself?” Corie adjusted her wire-framed glasses and tucked a piece of silver hair behind her ear. “No pressure.”
I leaned back and crossed my legs, flattening my sleeveless silk tunic top over my robin’s egg blue capris. “I’m Julie,” I finally said, biting the bullet. I waited for the inevitable, “Hiiii Julie,” but it didn’t happen. Did I keep going? Did I have to say I was an alcoholic? I chose to pass. “I had a bit of a breakdown at the last meeting I attended,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“Is that why you’re here?” Corie tilted her head like she was looking at a bird who’d just flown into a plate glass window.
“No, I’m here because I’m a drunk,” I said and then lowered my eyes. I hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so harsh.
The room was silent, but I held my ground, refusing to be vulnerable. I am not here to make friends, I thought, like I was on a reality TV show.
“Thanks, Julie,” Corie said, her kind smile never faltering. “Welcome to the group. If you have any questions or need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She looked away. “Does anyone have anything they want to share today?”
I sat silently for the rest of the meeting, listening as people shared their stories. I felt nothing when a lady broke down because she’d shattered two years of sobriety by getting drunk at a party and sleeping with her best friend’s husband. I felt numb as people held her hand and hugged her and told her they were there for her no matter what. I refused to feel compassion. I couldn’t allow myself to take that risk again. I had let everyone in my life down. I had let myself down. The emptiness I felt inside was all I truly deserved.
At the end of the meeting, all I wanted to do was escape. I grabbed my purse off the floor, threw my muffin in the garbage and strode purposely towards the door. I have somewhere important to be, my face screamed. Don’t even attempt to talk to me.
“Julie, wait a moment.” I looked at my watch and frowned. I was going to be late for the pretend thing that I was rushing out for.
Corie quickly caught up with me, accurately interpreting my impatience. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said softly. “Obviously, I don’t know what your story is, but I know it’s hard to be new. If you don’t want to talk, that’s absolutely fine. You can just come here and listen every week. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Her face was warm and open, in direct contrast to mine.
I smiled, finally, and allowed my shoulders to lower from their protective stance. Despite my unrestrained hostility, she was being very kind and seemed genuinely interested in my well-being. And, if she was going to let me show up every week and listen to everyone else’s problems without participating, who was I to argue? That was basically my dream.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thank you for asking. I’m just a bit….” I struggled to find the words. What was I, really?
“Tired? Going through withdrawal? Feeling hopeless? All of that is perfectly normal.” She put her hand on my shoulder and I softened even more, feeling the warmth pull the depression from my bones.
“Can I ask how long you’ve been sober?” she asked.
“Almost two months,” I said. “Before that, though, I’d made it seven months.”
“That’s great!” she said without mockery. “And you’re still going through withdrawal?”
“A bit,” I lied. It was definitely more than a bit. “But not as bad as the first time I quit,” I lied again. “I’m just always kind of a jerk.” I grinned and she laughed.
“You know, we get all types. The fact that you’re here is important. You don’t have to be all glitter and rainbows. All we ask is that you treat everyone here with respect, and you did do that. Maybe one day you’ll be able to extend that kindness to yourself.”
I opened my mouth to speak and she stopped me by holding up her hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything. It was your first day; of course it was going to be hard. It might never be easy, but it will get easier.”
I nodded and moved away, not wanting her to see my eyes fill with tears. I wanted to tell her how awful I felt. How disappointed I was in myself. How I wanted to stop being scared. But instead, I said, “See you next week?”
“You bet,” she said. “Take care, Julie.”