A 20 something year old sits across the room from me. He's tearful, sharing his story of abuse from childhood that ultimately led him to meth. It's hard not to look over and see a child, scared of his life and those around him. Class clown demeanor is popular in inpatient treatment because it's being liked which is by far the "safest."
The song he offered was 'Goodnight Chicago' by Rainbow Kitten Surprise.
Imagine: the room is filled with square tables spread (almost) exactly 6ft apart. Ages range 19 to 65, varying degrees of wear and tear from a life of trying to suffocate pain, listening to music and coloring. And as you're walking through the scribbles of crayons and the whispers of something akin to cautious happiness you see a man of 20 something, staring off and swaying slightly. He is somewhere else. Maybe Chicago. But one thing is for sure: he was not in treatment coloring.
As if it was a 6th sense he breaks his gaze and looks directly at you, smiling and crossing his eyes. You share a quick acknowledgement and check to see if he needs a break or to talk. He doesn't. He never does. Funny men don't need to talk. But you don't see a man. You see a child that is hurting.
YOU ARE READING
Processing
PoesíaA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
