social antics

ANTICS part 1

This is the worst fucking support group in the world. I'm sitting here, trying to listen to what Jim has to say on the magic workings of CBIT therapy and CBD oil, but I can't focuse on a single thing because I've got Sarah next to me flicking her wrist band and humming her anti-anxiety song past the appropriate volume. Cope, on my left and next to Kevin, has a sinus problem and he takes everything too literally. He's constantly blurting out things and Kevin looks like he wants to strangle him. At first I thought Kevin was here for being a psychopath or something, turns out he just doesn't want to feel the shitty emotions of being a shitty teenager in this society. Can't imagine why, we all look like we're doing pretty well. But that's the thing, isn't it? We look like we're ok when really we're just a step behind the next person, waiting for our chance to break.

Anyway, I can't hear what Jim's saying but I don't really mind. That shit's never worked for me anyways. Spent a fortune and wasted valuable heyday time sitting in a dim room with the curtains closed and the lights on. I don't remember anything from the sessions as there was nothing valuable to take away from it.

This support group caters to all troubled teens between the ages of 16 and 21. Whether you have bipolar, autism or crippling anxiety, if your mom's given up, you're here. It's suppost to be a place where no parents are allowed but Luna's mom pitches every time. Keeps offering us cookies and words of congratulations for being able to keep living. Security chucked her out five or six times in the beginning but she kept coming back. We just ignore her now. She's not like the other mom's. She's totally cracked.

Aidan over there, honey brown skin and dark curly hair, the one wearing glasses when he can actually see just fine without them, he's a hypochondriac, big time. I think he's the only reason we never actually get through to the end of any of these sessions. He keeps yelling "medical emergency!" and due to protocol, the nurse at the back actually has to come check before we are allowed to carry on. For someone who thinks he can't see but can, then wears glasses which really make him unable to see properly but won't take them off, you can see how these might be very long sessions.

I used to not know everyone's name here but that's just because I didn't listen. I still don't. I've just learned their names. We've been a support group for seven months already and everyone's always pitched, except for Miles, but I'm pretty sure that's because he doesn't exist.

"CBD oil. Magic in a bottle. It can really change your lives, for each and every one of you."

Jim sounds like an advertiser.

"OK. Enough talk of therapy and such things. I'm delighted to say that we are a full group yet again. Smiling faces all round."

I don't know if it's just me, but I don't see anyone smiling.

We're suppost to be a group of nine teens with antics labeled as different disorders, but there's always one chair empty. Jim calls it 'Miles's seat'. I have a feeling he needs these sessions more than any of us do.

"Right. Let's go around and introduce ourselves for the benefit of..."

Newcomers? Seriously Jim.

"Well it's a nice way to start off the session anyways. Kevin. Let's start with you."

Silence. Jim smiles awkwardly. Apparently Kevin bit his last therapist because he asked him to do something he didn't want to.

"Or you don't have to. We can move on to Cope?"

Kevin's eyes narrow like slits as he adjusts his seat. His shaved blond hair stands up like little razors and his big pale hands slip creepily into his jacket pocket. It looks like he's gripping onto something. Jim visibly gulps and looks at me for help. I shrug like I don't know what he wants, but I do. Kevin's cool with me.