“It’s going, sorry I missed your first call,” I offered shyly.
I could sense Rachel’s smile on the other end. “It’s no trouble. I just wanted to let you know you’d been accepted into the Group Therapy for Mental Health Outcomes. But there’s one hitch.”
My neck began to heat, and my heart rate slowed. “Oh?”
“Nothing crazy, but the waitlist can be up to a year long. However, there’s a spot available in the next group.” A pause hung in the air between us. “It starts next week on Monday and runs twice a week—the second day being Thursday. Would that work for you on such short notice?”
Relief washed over me. “Oh, fuck yeah it does. I thought for a minute I’d have to wait a whole year. A couple days is amazing,” I said.
“Great. I’m glad that works for you. So, whenever you have a free moment, if you want to pop down to the office beforeMonday to sign some paperwork for the program, I can fax it off to the facilitator. If you come by and I’m in a meeting, it’ll be left with the receptionist,” Rachel said, like she was rattling off a script she’d said a hundred times before.
A weight floated off my shoulders—one I’d forgotten was even there.
“I’m sending you an email now to review the program and its requirements, especially regarding the group therapy portion. There are some mandatory sections I want you to fully understand. But other than that, you’re registered for Monday at 1:00 p.m.”
Elated by all the information, I didn’t have any further questions. “Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Lennon.” And then she was gone.
I raced to my laptop, flipped it open, and logged in, cursing it for lagging. “Could you load any fucking slower, you piece of shit?” I muttered while the spinning circle of death pulsed in the centre of the screen.
My impatience was spiralling out of control until the screen finally loaded. My email was already open, with one new message at the top. It was from Dr. Rachel Montgomery’s office, labelled:Information for Group.
I clicked on it. Below were paragraphs upon paragraphs of information about the group and how it related to me specifically. One section had been highlighted—clearly marked by Rachel.
Lennon,
Some of the key points to really take from this information package are as follows:
-GTFMHO is a group that runs twice a week with mandatory attendance for the program you’ve enrolled in
-you MUST complete the tasks provided by the group in order to be eligible for the program
-group participants are involved for a variety of reasons—not just from the program you’re enrolled in
-this group will run for twelve weeks
-you MUST sign the confidentiality form—it is different from the one we already signed
I was thinking that we should focus on just starting this group and getting a firm grasp on it before we tend to any other tasks that need hashing out. Particularly, since the group is a lengthier time commitment.
Let me know how this all sounds,
-Rachel
I appreciated that Rachel had put all the main thoughts I would’ve had into one point-form paragraph. She really was a good one. I quickly scanned through the rest of the email. The amount of information was overwhelming. If I’d wanted clarity, I definitely had it now.
As I scrolled up and down through the mountain of content, I wondered who the hell would sign up for this program without being forced to attend. Did people do this kind of shit for fun?
I closed my laptop and tossed it onto the opposite end of the couch. Standing up, I reached for my phone to check the time. I had messaged Jase yesterday after therapy to see if he could come by with his prescription. It had taken some time, but he eventually got back to me last night and said he’d swing by at some point today to drop it off.
I was getting anxious, especially after reading that email. The dreams were in full swing these days.
It was getting worse.
Jase:Hey! I’ll be near your place around 3pm if that’s cool?
Jase had finally followed up, and relief washed over me. The amount of anxious energy I was carrying was starting to tip into something else. I was waiting for the program. Waiting for therapy. Waiting for drugs to fuck me up. Waiting for my long-awaited death.
