Status: Active
Crazy
Unmute the Mute
As it turned out Craig and I had group therapy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Joy, a time to spill out our guts and cry together.
I hate group therapy, it's just dumb, all you do is share your feelings and everyone's like "it's okay" or "we understand" Bullshit! they don't understand what you're going through they are just lying to make you feel better.
Every time Craig saw me he waved and smiled.
I being the dumb ass I was, waved stupidly and looked down.
Craigery earned my respect the day he told his story.
He too loved music as much as I did.
Craig told of how he was on tour. He was surrounded by many people at all times, yet Craig felt lonelier than ever.
He felt as if no one knew or experienced what he was going through, so Craig turned to drugs to keep him from being lonely.
And then he let the ball drop...Craigery Michael Owens admitted himself into this mental institution.
He did it for his best friends...his bandmates.
He told us that in group therapy on his 2nd day here.
That very same day Craig asked me to go on a walk with him.
"You know there is something different about you and I can't put my finger on it. And I'm not talking about your muteness but instead your body language."
I thought to myself sarcastically, could it be the fact that I am constantly over-analyzing everything and judging everyone?
"Why don't you talk I'm sure you have a beautiful voice." Oh yes Craig was a smooth talker, he was always good with words and knew exactly what to say at the right time.
Even now, maybe that's what actually drew me to him. They way he spoke was captivating.
"Don't you want to get better?" He asked.
Better, I thought, was there anything wrong with me in the first place.
I stared blankly at his lightly tanned face.
"They said you talked before you came here" Craig sounded agitated
I could tell he wanted a break through, he wanted to be the one to miraculously get me to talk. I didn't want to talk.
Talking meant therapists writing things down in their lined yellow notepads...analyzing my every move and words... it was not something I was interested in.
"It's fine don't talk to me, I just thought you could use a friend." He spun around and started to walk away.
Even now I remember it happening; the backside of his head was not as inviting as the front.
"Craig" I said hoarsely do to the fact I hadn't spoken in a month, it made him turn around. I'm sure he was just making sure he wasn't imagining me speaking. "Comeback."
I hate group therapy, it's just dumb, all you do is share your feelings and everyone's like "it's okay" or "we understand" Bullshit! they don't understand what you're going through they are just lying to make you feel better.
Every time Craig saw me he waved and smiled.
I being the dumb ass I was, waved stupidly and looked down.
Craigery earned my respect the day he told his story.
He too loved music as much as I did.
Craig told of how he was on tour. He was surrounded by many people at all times, yet Craig felt lonelier than ever.
He felt as if no one knew or experienced what he was going through, so Craig turned to drugs to keep him from being lonely.
And then he let the ball drop...Craigery Michael Owens admitted himself into this mental institution.
He did it for his best friends...his bandmates.
He told us that in group therapy on his 2nd day here.
That very same day Craig asked me to go on a walk with him.
"You know there is something different about you and I can't put my finger on it. And I'm not talking about your muteness but instead your body language."
I thought to myself sarcastically, could it be the fact that I am constantly over-analyzing everything and judging everyone?
"Why don't you talk I'm sure you have a beautiful voice." Oh yes Craig was a smooth talker, he was always good with words and knew exactly what to say at the right time.
Even now, maybe that's what actually drew me to him. They way he spoke was captivating.
"Don't you want to get better?" He asked.
Better, I thought, was there anything wrong with me in the first place.
I stared blankly at his lightly tanned face.
"They said you talked before you came here" Craig sounded agitated
I could tell he wanted a break through, he wanted to be the one to miraculously get me to talk. I didn't want to talk.
Talking meant therapists writing things down in their lined yellow notepads...analyzing my every move and words... it was not something I was interested in.
"It's fine don't talk to me, I just thought you could use a friend." He spun around and started to walk away.
Even now I remember it happening; the backside of his head was not as inviting as the front.
"Craig" I said hoarsely do to the fact I hadn't spoken in a month, it made him turn around. I'm sure he was just making sure he wasn't imagining me speaking. "Comeback."