‘My story’s not very remarkable. It was dope and pills at first – usual stuff – but I had an experience last year which … which left me badly traumatized. After that I drank more … and eventually started doing H.’
She was right, Kassie thought to herself, as she investigated the frayed cuff of her sleeve, picking at a loose thread. This girl’s story was just like all the rest – the nursery slopes of substance abuse, then personal trauma, then hard drugs, then burnout. Not that Kassie wasn’t sympathetic – she pitied anyone who’d had a bad time and knew how drugs could take over your life – it’s just that it was so predictable, so depressing.
This girl was the third speaker today. The counsellor – what was her name? Rachel? Rebecca? – was determined that everyone should get a chance. But the stories were starting to blur. Kassie knew she should be paying attention, emoting and nodding at the key bits, but the truth was that she didn’t want to hear it. The girl was currently describing a family incident that had driven her to hard drugs, but right now Kassie didn’t have the bandwidth to take on somebody else’s pain. She didn’t want to be here. She’d tried NA groups before and was only attending to honour her promise to Adam. Nor did she want to share the basis of her trauma. There was no way she could do so without provoking ridicule and, anyway, she had no intention of giving up drugs. Sometimes she felt they were the only things keeping her sane.
‘And how long have you been clean now?’
The counsellor was gently moving the conversation on, shifting the girl’s focus from past hurt to present successes and future goals. Kassie receded a little further into herself, slipping her hand into her pocket to ferret out the eighth of skunk she’d secreted there. She let her fingers play over the plastic baggie, reassured by its bulk and amused at her rebelliousness in bringing it here.
‘I’m so grateful. I’m so grateful to all of you for your support and encouragement …’
The girl was crying now. If Kassie could have shoved her fingers in her ears, she would have. She knew she was being unfair, unkind, but her mood was fragile enough as it was.
‘We’ll take a break shortly,’ the counsellor was saying, as the girl dabbed her eyes. ‘But first it would be good to hear from our newest member.’
Kassie was jerked from her thoughts, alarmed by this sudden turn in the conversation.
‘Welcome, Kassie.’
The group murmured a warm, collective greeting.
‘What would you like to share with us today?’ the counsellor continued beseechingly.
Kassie tugged at her cuff, the thread coming clean off. What she wanted was to be away from here. She could feel the others looking at her – suddenly she felt hot, uncomfortable, claustrophobic.
‘Kassie?’
The counsellor – Rochelle, that was her name – was looking at her entreatingly, but still Kassie avoided her gaze. She was starting to feel dizzy, even a little nauseous – why did they never open the windows in these places? – and there was a dull stabbing pain in her head.
‘There’s no rush. But everyone here has to participate. So … in your own time, tell us about your experiences.’
Her words were becoming indistinct now. Kassie’s heart was beating fast, she could feel the sweat sliding down her back. She wanted to flee, to burst out of the cramped room into the cool, fresh air, but something was stopping her. And now, though she’d tried to block out her scrutiny, Kassie felt compelled to look at her interrogator.
She fought it – fought it with everything she had – but she couldn’t help herself. Slowly, she raised her head, looking Rochelle directly in the eye.