ACT I: our Friday morning depression support group
I walked into group and noticed that Colleen AND Jane were both there. Uh oh, I thought.
About a month ago, Jane told us she was glad Colleen hadn’t come to group for the last few months. She didn’t like Colleen – she thought she was too emotional, too flamboyant, had too little insight and took up too much space in the group. If Colleen came back, Jane didn’t want to be in the group anymore. I tried my best to stick up for Colleen. She’s a fellow Borderline, I said. I know how Borderlines can turn people off, I said. I feel uncomfortable when Colleen cries at the drop of a hat too but on the other hand… I can relate. I just take her mood swings with a grain of salt and try to appreciate the depth and passion she brings to the group.
Well Friday morning, it became clear that Jane’s feelings had not changed. Every time Colleen started to say something, Jane interrupted her. She wouldn’t even look at her. It was noticeable; yet not so overt that anyone stopped her. I wasn’t sure Colleen noticed, but as soon as Jane left, Colleen broke into tears. She wanted to know why Jane disliked her so much. We told her what Jane had said in our previous group… as gently and sweetly as possible. Colleen did not take it well. She summed up her thoughts in a later email:
”I would have been very oblivious indeed if I didn't know Jane didn’t like me. I've known it from the very first meeting. It never changed. You confirmed what I already knew. Since the beginning of that group she regularly turns her back on me when I talk, won't make eye-contact at other times, turns her body away from me and makes sure I get that body language loud and clear. She wanted me to know, from the very FIRST time I came back to the group, that I was unwanted. Barely disguised disgust and downright aggressive cruelty were the means of delivering the message. I got it.
Maybe her not-so-latent anger and disdain are an automatic, buried response to women like me. Maybe I represent something uncontrollable, and unpredictable. Maybe she sees that I’m not living in awe of much of anything, much less psychoanalysis. So I CAN'T be controlled. And so I speak out. And I have a life, and an intelligence that is outside a predictable and known line. And I can match her wits, point by point. And maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm not the "normal" she used to: I have my own sense of it.
My best guess is that she will deny it, turn it back on me, and make me feel even more terrible. And then I would run out of the room in tears.”
We talked for a long time after group ended. When she left, Colleen seemed sad but not quite as despondent. Still, we were worried.
tomorrow: act II
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