How to Be Normal

I walk into the Saturday morning Support Group meeting, and plant myself on one of the few remaining unoccupied chairs. There's a woman in front of me, whom I last met in this room six weeks ago. I haven't seen her since, so I assume she may have been "back out there."

"Hi Holly!" I say warmly. "How's it going?"
Holly promptly bursts into floods of tears.
Which tells me all I need to know.

It's a great meeting this morning, and as usual a theme emerges without anyone consciously imposing it. The message which for 60 minutes ties us together like a golden thread, is the sheer impossibility of trying to deal with our problem on our own. Person after person talks about their moment of total surrender, and how they look back on that moment of abject despair and humility as one of the greatest gifts of their lives.

I have spent the hour before the meeting with one of my sponsees, but I spend the half hour afterwards with Holly.

"I feel so ANGRY", she sobs. "Why can't I be like other people? I just want to be normal."

I can remember feeling like this myself, particularly on a Friday night when everyone in the office where I then worked used to head off together for the evening, and I knew it was better that I didn't go with them. But eventually I stopped giving it a thought. Because sitting in a Support Group meeting became so much more interesting and profitable.

I want to tell Holly that her only chance of achieving "normality" is to simply give in. But she is still struggling with acceptance, so all she needs to know at the moment is that it would be good if she can keep coming back. I suggest that she might try and connect more, not just flit in and out of the occasional meeting. I give her my number and tell her she can call or text me anytime. She gives me her number in return.

Much of her talk has been of work success and her high profile life; but as we are about to part, she drops her guard.

"Things are getting really bad," she says. "Things are getting desperate".
"Get to plenty of meetings" I suggest. "That's what helped me".

Sunday night finds me in another Support Group meeting, in the grounds of the local mental hospital. It is a busy meeting, with a number of friends there I haven't seen for a while. I am caught up with chatting and don't get a chance to register everyone who comes through the door.

So it is only half way through the meeting that I realise Holly is quietly sitting behind me. After the meeting, I introduce her to some other women and leave them talking while I help tidy up.

Then I hear a lovely sound.
I hear Holly laughing.