ONE Article: Bipolar, Part 3

This sucks.

The problem started with something called art therapy. OK – it involved more than that, but that was what we spent the majority of the time doing during this time of day. If I have to make one more * collage I’m going to paper-cut myself to death!

The therapist who was responsible for art therapy was probably a nice person. We got along in the beginning, but then she noticed that I sat in the same place every day. It was a rectangular table and I would always sit at the shorter end facing the window, where I could see everyone. She would often sit opposite me and most of the others would sit on either side.

Well, she decided that I was making a power play on her and the group.

“No, I just want to be able to see people’s faces when they talk.” I said.

“Well, I’d like you to sit somewhere else.”

It was nearing the end of my treatment and I just wanted to go home, so I agreed. I sat someplace different. I can’t wait to get out of here and away from the seat Nazi. … Great, another art project with cotton balls.

The next day for group therapy, which was in a different room, the regular guy was gone and my individual therapist was filling in. I arrived a couple minutes late and when I went to sit down he said, “Kevin, the group has decided that you are going to sit here today,” pointing to a metal folding chair on the side of the circle.

What * is he talking about?

“Kevin, you always sit in the same place and now the group has decided you should sit in this chair here.”

I was angry, and I was hurt. My “friends” talked about me when I wasn’t here and then decided to make me sit in this metal chair while they all sit on cloth chairs and sofas? “Can I at least sit there?” I asked as I pointed to another empty chair.

“That’s fine. We just didn’t want you sitting in your regular place.”

I didn’t say a word for those 90 minutes. I was pissed.

After group the first thing out of my friend’s mouth was that the therapist was the one with the idea to have me sit someplace different, and not the group’s. This furthered my distrust for my therapist and my anger for his lie was off the charts.

I was in a strange environment and one of my few familiar things was sitting in a particular seat in the circle. It may sound silly, but when my life was falling apart I wanted to be able to have something within my control. But that’s not how he saw it and it greatly damaged our therapeutic relationship. Like I said, it may sound silly, but at the time that was virtually all I had.