The Schopenhauer Cure(54)
“Be specific, Bonnie,” Julius urged. “Who is more important. Why?”
Bonnie looked around, “Everybody here. You, Julius—look how you’ve helped everyone. Rebecca is drop-dead gorgeous, a successful lawyer, great kids. Gill is the CFO of a large hospital—as well as being a hunk. Stuart—well, he’s a busy doctor, helps children, helps parents; he has success written all over him. Tony…” Bonnie paused for a moment.
“Welllll? This’ll be interesting.” Tony, dressed as always in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers splattered with paint stains, leaned back in his chair.
“First of all, Tony, you’re you—no posturing, no games, just pure honesty. And you bad-mouth your profession, but I know you’re no ordinary carpenter; you’re probably an artist at your work—I see that BMW roadster you scoot around in. And you’re a hunk, too, I love you in a tight T-shirt. How’s that for risk?” Bonnie looked around the group circle. “And, who else? Philip—you’ve got intelligence to burn, you know everything—a teacher, you’re going to be a therapist, your words fascinate everyone. And Pam? Pam is awesome, a university professor, a free spirit; she compels attention; she’s been everywhere, knows everyone, has read everything, stands up to anyone.”
“Reactions, anyone, to Bonnie’s explanation of why she’s less important than each of you?” Julius’s eyes circled the group.
“Her answer doesn’t make sense to me,” said Gill.
“Can you tell her?” said Julius.
“Sorry, what I mean is—and I don’t want to offend—but Bonnie, your answer sounds regressive…”
“Regressive?” Bonnie screwed her face up in puzzlement.
“Well, what this group is about is that we’re all just human beings trying to relate in a human way to one another, and that we check our roles, our degrees, our money, and our BMW roadsters at the door.”
“Amen,” said Julius.
“Amen,” chimed in Tony, who added, “I’m with Gill, and, just for the record, I bought that roadster used and it’s put me in hock for the next three years.”
“And Bonnie,” Gill continued, “in your go-round what you did was focus exactly on those external things—professions, money, successful kids. None of those relate to why you are the least important person in this room. I consider you very important. You’re a key member; you’re engaged with all of us; you’re warm, giving; you even offered me a place to sleep a couple of weeks ago when I didn’t want to go home. You keep the group focused; you work hard here.”
Bonnie held her ground. “I’m a drag; my whole life has been about shame for my alcoholic parents, always lying about my family. Inviting you home, Gill, was a big event for me—I could never invite kids home, full of fear that my father would show up drunk. What’s more, my ex-husband was a drunk, my daughter’s a heroine addict…”
“You’re still evading the point, Bonnie,” said Julius. “You talk of your past, your daughter, your ex, your family…but you, where are you?”
“I am these things, a composite of all these things; what else can I be? I’m a boring pudgy librarian, what I do is to catalog books…I…I don’t know what you mean. I’m confused, I don’t know where or who I am.” Bonnie began to cry, pulled out a tissue, blew her nose loudly, closed her eyes, raised both hands and drew circles in the air, and, between the sobs, muttered, “This is enough for me; it’s all I can take today.”
Julius shifted into another gear and addressed the entire group. “Let’s take a look at what’s happened the past several minutes. Who’s got some feelings or observations?” Having succeeded in moving the group into the here-and-now, he advanced to the next step. In his view the work in therapy consisted of two phases: first interaction, often emotional, and second, understanding that interaction. That’s the way therapy should proceed—an alternating sequence of evocation of emotions and then understanding. So he now attempted to switch the group into the second phase by saying, “Let’s back up and take a dispassionate look at what’s just transpired.”
Stuart was about to describe the sequence of events when Rebecca jumped in: “I think the important thing was Bonnie giving her reasons for feeling unimportant and then assuming we would all agree. That’s when she became confused and cried and said she had had enough—I’ve seen her do that before.”
Tony said, “Yeah, I agree. Bonnie, you do get emotional when you get a lot of attention. Are you embarrassed by the spotlight?”
Still sobbing, Bonnie said, “I should have been appreciative, but look what a mess I made of it. And look at how much better others would’ve used this time.”
“The other day,” Julius said, “I had a conversation with a colleague about one of his patients. He said she had a habit of catching spears thrown at her and then stabbing herself with them. Maybe I’m being a little loose here, Bonnie, but that popped in mind when I saw how you take things and punish yourself with them.”
“I know you’re all feeling impatient with me. I guess I still don’t know how to use the group.”
“Well, you know what I’m going to say, Bonnie. Exactly who here was impatient? Look around the room.” The group could absolutely count on Julius asking this question. He had never been known to let such a statement go by without honing in on it and asking for names.