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Show 33 The Chair "Put the disease in this chair," Sadie is saying, dragging an empty lounge chair in front of me. "Then tell it what you want." They are making final adjustments to the chair, settling it immediately in front of my wheelchair. As if I could better address its occupant by its more perfect alignment before me. I am feeling ridiculous. I have nothing to say. It is an empty chair and the several people staring at me, awaiting my response, can notice the red flushing my cheeks if they bother to. Their staring paints my face redder still. "What would you tell your disease if you could?" Sadie urges. I appreciate what Sadie and the others are trying to do. I respect the expertise of the professionals present. I understand that they truly do care about me, my disease process and my response to it all. But I do not like pretense and pretending. I hate acting. It is group therapy. We have listened to Lenore talk about her intentional overdose and newfound desire to live. Old George has shared his love and his tears for his recently deceased wife. John swears that he will never do drugs again but we do not believe his rapidly buckshot-scattered words, none of them full enough with truth to make resonance with any of our souls. |
