In My Book

I sat in the first empty folding chair I could find, joining a circle of strangers. We were all here for the same reason: the inescapable, inexplicable inability to let go of something. The room was quiet, the folding chair cold, and I sat in silence studying the faces around me, knowing that it was quite possible that my secret was unlike any of theirs. My problem was unable to be faced, and my urges were unable to be quelled. Nothing could help me, not even this stupid fucking meeting—and it was just that: a stupid fucking meeting. I fiddled with the strap on my tattered, brown crossbody, impatiently waiting for the leader to walk into the center of the circle. And who knew how long that would be; he was biding his time doing more interesting things like fixing a cup of coffee and a croissant for ten minutes straight. The last seat filled as a guy who looked to be about my age sat down next to me. Then, the ringleader entered the circle.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, sounding entirely too cheery given the context of the meeting. “We’re about to get started. I thought it would be helpful if we go around and introduce ourselves since it appears that we have a new member joining us today.”

I blushed in embarrassment. God, help me. I don’t want to be noticed. Don’t want to be seen. Don’t even want to be heard, really. Needless to say, I was stuck. The doors had already been closed, and I knew I would only embarrass myself more if I chose to walk out. So, I stayed.

“Jackie, why don’t you start?” he said, looking at the frail, middle-aged woman immediately to his left.

“Why don’t you start, Alex? You’re the one running this thing,” she suggested dryly.

“That’s fair,” he chuckled. “Well, I’m Alexander Vanderhausen. Say that five times fast!” The room was awkwardly silent as his joke fell flat on the floor. I felt myself smirk slightly; it was so much funnier to me, now that I knew that no one else was laughing. “Anyway, I go by Alex. I’ve been running these meetings for about ten years now, and I’m fully licensed and certified. You’re welcome to come and go as you please, but we obviously encourage folks to come every week to really get the benefit of these meetings. Jackie, back to you.”

Get a load of this guy. What a trip, I thought to myself, trying to contain my laughter. It was an oversight on my part—thinking that these meetings wouldn’t entertain me.

“I’m Jackie. I’m a recovering heroin addict. Five years clean. Joe,” she said flatly, tapping the older gentleman next to her on the shoulder.

“I’m Joe. I’ve been coming here for about two years. And I’m a recovering gambler,” he said, waiting for the next person in the circle to speak.

“I’m Eloise, and I’ve struggled with eating disorders for most of my life. Mostly binging and purging,” she said. She was very young and frail but a beautiful girl no less.

“I’m Rudy, and I’m currently battling an addiction to…” he said, pausing and sighing deeply as he looked around the room at each one of us. Well, this is uncomfortable. “An addiction to adult films.”

“Classy,” the guy next to him chuckled. “I’m Seth, and I’m a recovering porn addict. And let’s call it what it is: it’s porn.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at his response, too, because he was clearly trying to outshine Rudy. I felt for Rudy, though; he was in the throes of it all. He was really just getting started on his journey, at least, that was how it sounded. I could tell that Alexander Vanderhausen, or Alex, didn’t approve of Seth’s comment. There were only two people left in the circle until it would be my turn. I hoped I would disappear somehow, right before the time came.

“I’m Kathy, and I just quit smoking a few months ago,” said the middle-aged woman who was next in line. One down, one to go.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the guy next to me until it was his turn to speak. And here it was—he was about to get started, presumably to introduce himself by name like the rest of them had, then talk about his addiction. Instead, he audibly sighed, casting his eyes down on the cold, dirty tile floor.

“This is embarrassing,” he said quietly, not looking at any of us.

“You certainly don’t have to share. No pressure. But I think the more that we share, the more that we make our new guest feel welcome,” Alex said, trying to encourage him to fess up. I wouldn’t tolerate it though.

“No, it’s okay,” I said, piping up in the quiet room. All eyes turned to me. “He doesn’t need to do that.” Time stood still for a moment, and I glanced at him as soon as I felt him looking at me. His medium-brown hair was short on the sides and longer on top, accentuating his cutting-edge, razor-sharp jawline. His full lips parted as if he was about to respond to my sudden show of confidence, but instead, he only made eye contact with me, his soft brown eyes meeting my gaze. Nervously, I looked back at Alex. “I’ll go,” I added—a small, innocent, nervous utterance that simply fell out of my mouth. I felt the heat of his stare on my face and tried to ignore it.

“No, I will. Alex is right. I should share,” he said. I was intrigued now. Who is he? And why do I already find him so interesting? “My name is John Cameron, and I’m addicted to toxic relationships. And it’s fucking embarrassing because everyone else here has a real problem, and my problem is insignificant.”

The room stayed awkwardly silent. I really couldn’t face him now; he felt pressured to share simply because of me, because of my presence. I couldn’t back my way out of this situation now.

“John, you know we’ve talked about this so many times. Everyone here has a significant problem. Everyone’s problem matters. Let’s all say it together: my problem matters,” Alex encouraged. I watched as everyone in the group said the words in unison—everyone except for him. I felt him look at me once more, and I exchanged a quick glance with him. “And now for our new guest. Who might—”

“—I’m Quinn Hampton,” I said, cutting him off. “And I’m addicted to bullshit.”

“Uh…” Alex wasn’t sure what to say to that, and I wasn’t really sure, either. But I let him take the lead. “I’m not quite sure we know what you mean by that,” he said.

“So, like, I can’t really get very far in life because it’s constant bullshit. I can elaborate if you want, but I’m sure this meeting isn’t really long enough to air my concerns,” I announced confidently.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“Alright. Let’s start with my family: toxic as hell. They are manipulative, lying, deceitful, backstabbing snakes, yet I’ve forgiven them time and time again. And my friends—they must have some unspoken mutual agreement with my shitty family because they’re just as bad—”

“—We encourage refraining from using language in the circle,” Alex said, interrupting the rant I’d really just gotten started on.

“Oh, so John is allowed to say the fuck word, but I’m not allowed to use any… color?” I asked.

“I did say the fuck word,” John breathed quietly. I watched as a smirk came to his face.

“Thanks for your honesty,” I said, glancing over at him and reminding myself that he was only making me more nervous, and this moment was about confidence. “I’ll continue. Everyone at my job: bullshit. The absolute scum of the earth. I’ve never had a job like this before where I overwork myself and produce nothing but exceptional quality work, yet I receive low performance ratings and horrible treatment from my coworkers and supervisors. I’m not trying to sound like Lindsay Lohan in Freaky Friday, but these bitches are out to get me.”

“What else?” John asked. Why is John getting so involved?

“Yes, what else?” Alex added, prodding me for more.

“My landlord is a literal piece of shit. He lies about how much the rent costs every month so he can feed his binge drinking habits. Sorry if that offends anyone; I know this is an addictions anonymous meeting. Oh, and by the way, that’s another thing. Every fucking person I talk to is offended—”

“—Please, refrain from using language, Quinn,” Alex reminded me.

“Yes, please refrain from using the fuck word,” John said with an even wider smirk now, revealing a perfect smile. Are we going to be friends? Because I feel like we might be friends.

“Fuck,” I yelled, weaving my fingers through my scalp in distress.

“And what makes you think that you’re addicted to… all of this?” Alex asked, without using the exact word for my addiction.

“I’ve taken an active role in every part of my life, and the problems just keep piling up. And I’ve done nothing to change them, nothing to improve my situation. It’s like it either follows me or like I need it to survive. Like the drama, the depressing nature of it all—it just defines me at this point,” I admitted hesitantly.

“Let’s talk about what steps you can take to work on that,” he suggested.

“Well, that’s part of the problem, Alexander Vanderhausen—”

“—Alex, please,” he reminded me gently.

“Right. That’s part of the problem is that I know exactly what steps I would need to take to get out of it all. I could move to another apartment. I could find a new job. I could flush my family down the shitter—”

“—Language,” he sighed.

“What the fuck, man. Just let me—”

“—Just let her vent,” John said, interrupting me. There was so much interrupting going on that it was hard to keep up with it.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

“If no one else wants to hear what you have to say, I do.”