Sam had refined the art of non-verbal communication, letting as many people as possible know that he was deeply unhappy. Doors slammed, monosyllabic answers, walking off when he was spoken to, deep and heavy sighs, a permanently pained expression. He made it very clear to everyone he came into contact with that life, in particular his own, was a bitch. In desperation his Mum had finally persuaded him to see the doctor, hoping that he had some sort of magic pill that would help cheer Sam up.
“Look, you’re only 18 and you’ve had a bit of a tough time your Mum tells me. I don’t want to prescribe anti-depressants so I’m going to suggest you come to our therapy group. It’s for people like you, who are having a difficult time and it might help you. I’d like you to try that before we think about drugs.”
Mum wasn’t too happy, she wanted a quick fix and to get her son back, but Sam reluctantly agreed to go to the group.
The first meeting was the next evening in the doctor’s waiting room. A circle of chairs had been set out and a youngish guy, wearing glasses was writing on a flip chart. Mum hovered anxiously by the door.
“Mum, go home. I’ll see you later.”
The young man put his pen down and approached Sam holding out his hand. He was casually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and had a friendly smile.
“Hi, you must be Sam. I’m Paul and I’m leading the group. There’s not many of us, take a seat wherever you like.”
The seats gradually filled and Sam noticed there were people of all ages in the circle. Only one seat was left when an older woman rushed in and plonked herself down next to Sam.
“Hi, I’m Barbara. I haven’t seen you before. Don’t worry, you’ll be alright.”
Sam edged as far away from Barbara as he could. He didn’t do talking to old people. He had nothing in common with them. Anyway, there didn’t look much wrong with her, he idly wondered why she was in the group at all.
Waiting for Paul to begin, he looked around the room and it finally dawned on him that everyone else looked okay too. Why were they all there? They couldn’t have real problems, not like him.
Paul began by asking everyone to give their name for the benefit of new members and invited them to share one thing from their gratitude journal if they wished.
There was a small flurry of activity as people retrieved notebooks of varying descriptions from beside their chairs. He couldn’t help notice that Barbara had a neon pink notebook with a huge rainbow stuck to the front. He shook his head pityingly, old people.
As each person introduced themselves and read from their notebooks Sam began to feel angry.
“I’m grateful that it wasn’t raining today and I went for a long walk in the woods.”
Oh please, Sam thought, this was pointless.
“I’m grateful I slept well last night.”
Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well, his sleep was interrupted by nightmares about his abusive father.
“I’m grateful my friend came round to see me and gave me a hug.”
Sam sank lower in his chair, he couldn’t think of anything he felt grateful for. Zilch. Nada.
When it came to Barbara’s turn, she winked at Sam.
“I’m grateful that today I knocked 15 seconds off my PB and cycled 5k in 10 minutes.”
That made Sam sit up and stare. This woman didn’t look like she could cycle 5k in 10 hours, never mind 10 minutes. She was a bit taller than his Mum, skinny, with grey hair cut into a bob. But an athlete? Sam didn’t think so.
Paul led them through a guided relaxation, and Sam was surprised to find he was nodding off. The session wrapped up with the group being reminded to keep a daily gratitude journal.
“How was it Sam?” his Mum asked when he got home.
“Okay I suppose.”
The next week Sam was a bit late, he’d been playing Call of Duty and lost track of time. The only seat left was next to Barbara. He groaned inwardly as he took his place. What would the old biddy say today?
“I’m grateful that my strength is improving, I did 20 press ups in 30 seconds today.”
Ha, chance was a fine thing. Sam doubted if he could do 20 press ups, never mind Barbara. Those skinny arms surely couldn’t do press ups. He began to wonder what she’d be grateful for next time. He couldn’t understand why she was at the group at all, she seemed fine to him.
Again, he contributed nothing to the group. But when he got home he dug out an old notebook. He would never have admitted it to anyone, not even himself, but he was slightly intrigued by Barbara. He wondered if he too could do 20 press ups in 30 seconds.
He soon found out the answer was no.
Sam’s fire and competitiveness had been crushed out of him by his bullying father. But somewhere deep within a little spark ignited.
He got his old bike out and cleaned it up. He even went for a short ride on it.
Each day he wrote one or two things, like ‘today I went on my bike, I got to the next level on Call of Duty’ but they seemed trivial things that didn’t seem to help shift the deep well of misery within.
This went on for a few weeks and Sam felt he was no further forward than he was when the doctor suggested the group. He decided to give it one more week and then pack it in.
The session was different to usual. Nobody shared anything from their gratitude journals. Instead Paul asked them to think about how many hours a day they spent online in Facebook groups, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube or gaming.
He then asked how many hours a day they spent with people face to face. How much time was spent with friends, family or neighbours?
Most people in the group spent several hours a day on-line and next to no time with people.
“The problem is that when you spend time in the virtual world, it cuts you off from the real world and all that it has to offer. This disconnection can make you feel isolated, uncared for and make depression worse. So, no gratitude journals this week, instead I want you to make an effort to talk to someone face to face every day.”
There were a few horrified faces in the group, but Barbara jumped up.
“Come on everyone, lets start now and go to the pub and talk to each other. That’ll be a good start.”
The room quickly cleared, but Sam hung back. He was so not ready to be seen in public with this crowd. He nipped to the loo so they couldn’t encourage him to join them.
When the room was clear he noticed that Barbara had left her gratitude journal on her chair. He quickly picked it up and hurried out but everyone had gone, including Paul.
‘I can’t leave it here someone might pinch it. Bugger, I’ll have to take it home and give it back to her next week.’ Reluctantly Sam stowed the journal in his bag with his own notebook and headed home.
In the privacy of his bedroom he took out Barbara’s journal and opened it hoping to see an address where he could return the book. He didn’t want to be the custodian of it for a week.
But no, on the front page in bold, red writing he read:
“Bloody Stupid Gratitude Journal”
What the fuck?
“What the hell have I got to be grateful for?”
Shocked and more than a little curious, he turned the page.
“What am I grateful for today? NOTHING.”
“I wish I could drive, I’d run over the bastard who killed my family.”
Page after page, the writing continued in this vein.
“Why should I feel grateful to be alive? Paul’s a wanker. His family’s alive.”
“Bring back the fucking death penalty.”
“Stupid moronic judge.”
“I hope he gets beaten up and dies in prison.”
Sam hastily tossed the book away from him. This was written by someone in a lot of pain. Surely not old Barbara who did bike rides and press ups? People like her didn’t use language like this.
He realized that he’d had similar thoughts about his Dad after he’d beaten up Sam and his Mum the last time. He felt a simmering rage inside him beginning to bubble, burning to be expressed. Reaching for his own notebook he began to write, not consciously thinking about what he was writing, just letting his feelings pour out onto the page. By the time he finished he was shaking and tears flowed down his cheeks. The tears turned into raging sobs and suddenly, arms were around him, holding him close.
“It’s alright Sam, we’re safe now. He’ll never hurt us again.” They clung together until the tears subsided.
“I’m sorry Mum, I’ve been a pain in the arse, but I’ll try harder.”
“It’s okay love, you’ve had a tough time, but now we need to heal.”
The following week Sam went back to the group. He sat by Barbara and handed her journal back to her.
“I found it on your chair, after you left, I couldn’t see you so I looked after it.” He found he couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Thank you Sam. I hope you read it. I had to hide for ages in the loo to make sure you had gone last week.”
Sam’s head jerked up in astonishment.
“You see, you have to let go of all the crap, the anger and hate so you can make space to let good stuff back into your life.” She smiled sweetly at him “do you fancy going for a bike ride with me one day? Your mum could come too.”
And to his surprise Sam said yes.