My grandfather was an achingly intelligent man who died at the age of 85 after a long period of medically-induced dementia. Nearly 15 years later, I still feel the effects of his death profoundly.
You wouldn’t have liked my grandfather – not if you occupy what is, in something of a misnomer*, known as the political left.
Despite the background he came from (he was a farmer), he was a product of his time. His views on social issues in particular are completely at odds with everything I hold dear today; gay rights, reproductive freedom, co-habitation, defence of the vulnerable and ill, the right not to be persecuted for not being religious, yadda blahdeblah.
You would not have liked him if you knew him only for these issues. Neither would I.
But despite this, had you chosen to celebrate his death, I would consider you to be beneath contempt. I don’t particularly give a fuck if he wasn’t the single most influential person in the United Kingdom during some formative years of his life or not. If he had been, his convictions – however misguided they may have appeared to you and I – would still have guided how he conducted the power afforded him.
Jane didn’t come to the session tonight. Apparently she phoned Robert’s boss during the week to complain, though she hasn’t spoke to him nor Ellie about what happened last week. The group has made it clear that if she doesn’t return, we’ll miss her – however, I think the cohesiveness and support present in tonight’s session made it clear that if she doesn’t, we’ll still do good work without her.
It may simply be that after last week’s nastiness, she simply needs a break, or it may be that she was so offended by things that she can never face any of us ever again. I hope it’s the former, but if the latter, I still believe that this group has, and will continue to have, a positive impact upon my life.
We’re nearly half way through the planned sessions of group therapy; last night was eight of the 20 we have allocated. It was also the first where there was something of a confrontation. Interestingly, it was the therapists that precipitated it.
It went something like this. There is one woman, let’s call her Jane, that has often done most of the talking, usually about one specific relationship that she’s been struggling with. This has frequently served as the basis for the other three of us to talk; perhaps we see in Jane’s relationship what we’ve seen in some of our own, perhaps we understand why she struggles as she does. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter – the main point is that she’s brought it up a lot, and that to use the parlance of the one bloke in the group (John, let’s say), the other three “bat off her.”
Greetings, strangers, and welcome. Please beware that because I’ve been too crap to update this blog properly for ages that this post is frustratingly long.
This is sort of continued from here. I considered splitting this into two posts but since when I write entries called ‘Blah Yakka Meh – Part One’ a ‘Blah Yakka Meh – Part Two’ doesn’t often seem to transpire, I decided against it.
I am indeed still in the land of the living, not that anything about the pursuit of living my life is particularly interesting. Which is partly why I haven’t written anything substantive in forever – though most of it is down to anhedonia. Or laziness. Whatever. I don’t feel especially depressed as of this writing, but the weird thing about depression, as I’ve found it at least, is that you can be in an episode without realising it. In fact, I’m going to (sort of) empirically test that contention…
I’ve been horrifically remiss about posting lately (and, in particular, about responding to comments). If you have any sense, you don’t give a damn, but since I do have some readers, and since I’ve been a non-existent twat on Twitter for ages, I wanted to wish you all a very happy Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah/Saint Nicholas Day/Epiphany/Diwali/[insert festival of your persuasion here.]