Support Group? In Boston?

I yearned to meet others who had been through psychiatric abuse. I had met plenty of folks on Facebook and other social media who had been through what I had been through. Surely, there must be real, live humans out there that I could speak to IN PERSON that existed. So I heard about a support group in Boston. Now, this one didn’t encourage going to more shrinks…or so I hoped.

Unfortunately, I had a negative experience with the group. The first time I went it was okay then after that I left and went home and cried every time. I felt dishonored and invalidated.

I felt that I wasn’t really wanted there. This kid was running the group, over 20 years younger than me. She’d had far less experience and far less knowledge than I had. And yet, simply because she was the “leader,” she repeatedly used her power, her authority, to tell me that whatever I said was not even relevant. After a while, I noted that she’d stop me from speaking even before I had barely said a few words, each and every time.

I felt discouraged. I felt like no one recognized my wisdom at all. I felt like slapping these young, green kids and telling them, old lady that I am, to respect their elders.

I’ve been places. I’ve seen really really bad stuff in dungeons they ain’t seen. I come from a different time. I guess young folk forget that.

So I felt like I wasn’t wanted there. On the last night,when I knew I’d never be back, I was at coffee with a few stragglers afterward. Had I not made it clear I would never, ever see them again?

We departed. I didn’t think much at the time, but then I realized, “Wait. These kids know they won’t ever see me again. You’d think they’d at least say a kind ‘Goodbye’ or something? Or a sendoff or hug?”


It took me days to realize it. They didn’t even give a shit.

It’s been a couple of months now. I guess the reality is hitting me.

You know, I used to ask myself, “What happens if I die? Will people see things in different perspective? Will people realize that maybe they should have listened to me? Or cared?” I used to imagine accidentally walking into my own funeral and overhearing everything people said. Would anyone say a kind word at all or carry on my dreams?

My answer to this? No. People do not wise up. If folks don’t give a shit now, they aren’t going to give a shit after you are dead. They might even say spiteful or hateful things if they think you killed yourself or stopped taking care of yourself, like that you dug your own grave. But even a rather elaborate suicide isn’t going to change anything, and you won’t be around to enjoy the glory, those memorials, the flowers.

Feedback and comments welcome!