American Outlaw - Jesse James [139]
Holy shit, I thought. These people really have issues.
“How’s everyone else doing? Can we hear from our new member, maybe? Jesse, would you like to share?”
“I don’t know,” I said uneasily. “I mean, sure, I’m open to sharing, but I don’t exactly know why I’m here.”
“Well, that’s fine, Jesse. Tell you what, how are you feeling right now?”
“I’m feeling okay, I guess. I’m glad that I’m here . . . I think I just need some time to figure some things out. I need some time to be alone, I think.”
“That’s a good start,” Ben said. “There’s no hurry. Ease into it.”
I sat in my seat, fidgeting, but at the same time trying to listen as the other members of the group listed a staggering catalog of psychological conditions: anxiety, PTSD, cocaine addictions, and abusive relationships.
Hell, I thought wearily. Compared to these folks, I’m practically normal.
My first private session came later that afternoon, with Dr. Thomas. I sat on a chair directly across from her in a small, cozy little office.
“I thought people had to lie down when they did this sort of thing,” I joked.
“No room for a couch in here,” Dr. Thomas said, smiling. “Although, if you want to lie on the floor, we can probably accommodate you.”
“That’s okay.” I laughed. “I’m good just like this.”
“So, Jesse,” she said. “What brings you to my office? What do you want to discuss? This is your time.”
“Well,” I said. “I guess . . . my marriage ended. I’d kind of like to figure out if I can save it.”
“All right,” she said. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, man,” I said. I paused for a while, letting the silence fill the room. “I just . . . don’t know if I’m ready to go into all of that. It’s been pretty painful.”
“Is it recent?”
“Real recent,” I admitted.
“Do you need some time to settle in here, first?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “I mean, I don’t want to be a dick. I mean . . . sorry.” I blushed.
“That’s okay. You can say whatever you want to here, Jesse. Everything’s allowed.”
“Well,” I said, haltingly. “I just . . . I’ve never done anything like this before. Like, talk about my feelings. Any of that. I’m more of a take-action type of person. I never saw the point in therapy, to be honest.”
“You might be surprised what happens when you open up,” Dr. Thomas said patiently. “Tell you what, let’s just meet again, tomorrow, and go from there—how does that sound?”
“Good,” I said gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll do better next time. I promise.”
“It’s all at your speed,” Dr. Thomas said. “There’s no need to rush it.”
I wandered around the grounds, outside of the building, killing time before dinner. A guy with a receding hairline, a few years younger than me, approached me carefully.
“Hey, man,” he said. “How are you doing? I’m Tim.”
“What’s up, Tim. I’m Jesse.”
“Dude! I figured that was you. You’re the guy from Monster Garage.”
“Yup,” I said.
“Well, welcome. This is a pretty cool place.”
“What are you here for?” I asked.
“Oh, depression, you know, anxiety . . . my whole life being kind of fucked up . . . that kind of thing.” He laughed. “It’s not so bad, I guess. I swear, some days, I actually feel like I’m getting better. What about you?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I just mean . . . why are you here?” he said. “That is, if you want to talk about it. No pressure.”
“You mean, you don’t know?” I said.
“How would I know?” Tim asked, confused.
“I thought you knew who I was.”
“I do,” he said. “You’re that Monster Garage guy. But that’s all I got, man.” He grinned. “Look, we’ll talk about it in group. I just wanted to say what’s up and welcome you.”
“Well, thank you, Tim,” I said, after a second. “I appreciate it. See you around.”
We separated, and I continued to wander around on the grounds, in the shadow of the mountains.
Of course, I thought. Most everyone’s been here longer than me; they weren’t on the outside when the story broke.
There were no newspapers, magazines, TV, or Internet at Sierra Tucson. I realized, with incredible relief, that this place really