Posted on June 5, 2006 in DBSA Support Groups and Conferences
Now and then when you sit in a support group, another member shares a story that if an outsider heard it s/he might say “That’s sick.” I have heard people speak of delusions, of self-destructive behavior, and of the bizarre. They hang their heads or look at the ceiling. They grip the sides of their chairs and tap their feet. Or they remain absolutely still. The whole room sits with them. The atmosphere feels like a bent roof, holding the storm down.
Others don’t tell us such stories — ever. Their lives, they insist, are filled with perfection. They “work the steps”, take their meds, and “never” deviate from the prescribed course. I don’t believe them. I don’t trust them. Sometimes confirmation comes through channels that all is not as they claim. Or else their behavior in the group, the insistance itself, demonstrates their mendacity.
New members and those whose struggle persists over the course of many months or years may find themselves disheartened by “success stories”. The implication is “you suffer because you don’t work hard enough.” But many do work and they do suffer. And they still sleep in trees or hear the dryads exchanging recipes or carefully poke themselves with sterilized needles from time to time.
I think the people who tell the painful stories give support groups a great gift. The success storytellers never let on that they have this illness. Their grandiosity rolls and tumbles into the center stage of the group and remains there like one of the roaring weather balloons from The Prisoner. “I just keep a journal” one might say. “I take my meds.” But what for?
When a person talks about their pain, their frustration, and the utter incomprehensibility of the things they do, that person reminds the rest of the group what brings them together. The words say “Here it is safe enough to talk about what we do.” And so I thank them. They have taught me much: That a support group must be about honesty, tears, and trust.