Vagary

I wish I could write this directly. I have to be vague about the place to write about the conversations, or be vague about the conversations to write about the place:

I went to a support group today. A man with AIDS was crying about the grueling process of finding housing to match his housing voucher, which he did express gratitude for at the same time. He then regressed into discussion about what "home" means as a survivor of longterm childhood sexual abuse. Other attendees of all kinds were beautifully, sincerely supportive. I didn't say anything. I don't know why.

The man talked and cried for a long time.

The group facilitator, who had facilitated the whole group process well, and who knew the crying man well from years of case management, said something, rather quietly to the side, about a "pity party."

I don't know anything about the crying man, or about how much or how he cries, or why, and I have trusted the facilitator so far, so I can't say anything else about it.

But I can say, here, that a lot of what is expressed in this blog--through essays, stories, and comments--is difficult. I need to say things here that aren't said, or to describe them in human and personal terms different ways, whether they are said or not other places. I say things here that I don't express other ways in my life. I don't know why. But I know it's about seeking understanding for some reason, maybe indirectly. And I know that it's not about seeking pity.