Strength in Numbers
Brandee
English 111
October 8, 2012
Strength in Numbers “Hi. I’m Jordan and I’m an addict slash abuser, I guess.” I watch my son shrug his shoulders and hunch over, clasping his hands in his lap after uttering these words. He speaks the words quietly, but his apathetic tone and body language read loud and clear. He doesn’t believe the words he’s saying and is merely being cooperative. After a loud and cheerful “Hello Jordan!” the group turns their attention to me. “Hi. I’m Brandee, and I’m Jordan’s mom.” We continue like this around the circle until every patient, parent, sibling and friend has been introduced and welcomed. Despite the warm, welcoming nature of everyone here, there is nothing pleasant about this. My 15 year old son is in rehab and this is family group therapy. We sit in a large circle in cold, hard plastic chairs with shiny metal legs. The room is large and cold with white painted concrete block walls and a stage at the front end. It feels less like a hospital and more like my sons elementary school auditorium. The large banners above the stage boldly spell out the “12 Steps to Recovery” and “The Serenity Prayer” and are a harsh reminder to me that this is no place a school play would be performed. There are about 20 of us altogether: 8 or 9 teenage patients and their loved ones, as well as Matt, the head counselor for this group. Most of the kids, the patients, are wearing sweatpants and socks or slippers. There is no need for shoes since they won’t be leaving tonight with their family members. Some of them won’t be leaving for a very long time.
I sit in the circle for 30 minutes or so listening to the stories. Every patient has their own story, as it’s referred to by the staff. It’s their own personal truth about their journey into drug or alcohol use and subsequent abuse. They are encouraged to own up to these truths and reveal them to their loved ones and the group. One boy, just slightly older than my son, is leaving the hospital
English 111
October 8, 2012
Strength in Numbers “Hi. I’m Jordan and I’m an addict slash abuser, I guess.” I watch my son shrug his shoulders and hunch over, clasping his hands in his lap after uttering these words. He speaks the words quietly, but his apathetic tone and body language read loud and clear. He doesn’t believe the words he’s saying and is merely being cooperative. After a loud and cheerful “Hello Jordan!” the group turns their attention to me. “Hi. I’m Brandee, and I’m Jordan’s mom.” We continue like this around the circle until every patient, parent, sibling and friend has been introduced and welcomed. Despite the warm, welcoming nature of everyone here, there is nothing pleasant about this. My 15 year old son is in rehab and this is family group therapy. We sit in a large circle in cold, hard plastic chairs with shiny metal legs. The room is large and cold with white painted concrete block walls and a stage at the front end. It feels less like a hospital and more like my sons elementary school auditorium. The large banners above the stage boldly spell out the “12 Steps to Recovery” and “The Serenity Prayer” and are a harsh reminder to me that this is no place a school play would be performed. There are about 20 of us altogether: 8 or 9 teenage patients and their loved ones, as well as Matt, the head counselor for this group. Most of the kids, the patients, are wearing sweatpants and socks or slippers. There is no need for shoes since they won’t be leaving tonight with their family members. Some of them won’t be leaving for a very long time.
I sit in the circle for 30 minutes or so listening to the stories. Every patient has their own story, as it’s referred to by the staff. It’s their own personal truth about their journey into drug or alcohol use and subsequent abuse. They are encouraged to own up to these truths and reveal them to their loved ones and the group. One boy, just slightly older than my son, is leaving the hospital