While I’m jogging down memory lane…

Do you remember your first support group meeting? Oy! Mine was nerve wracking. I don’t know why I didn’t just give up and stay home

It was July of 1993. I was living in Lincoln, Nebraska with my girlfriend. The support group was the RCGA, based in Omaha. They met on the first Saturday of every month.
My girlfriend and I had driven to western Kansas on Friday morning, to see her parents. We drove back Saturday morning, and got home in the afternoon. There’s not much to do but think as you’re driving across Kansas, and by the time we arrived home, tired & sweaty, I convinced myself that no matter how exhausted I was, I needed to get to that meeting.

She said fine, but she wasn’t going. She needed sleep. So, as she dozed, I got ready. Short skirt, garters, high heels, big hair. You’d have thought I was going streetwalking. But with makeup help from her, I was ready. She looked out the door to make sure there was no-one outside, and I made a run for the car.

As I got in, I realized there wasn’t enough gas to make it to Omaha and back. So, I ran back in, and convinced this poor woman, my long-suffering girlfriend, to go with me to a gas station and fill up the car, while I sat inside, hunched over so no-one would see me.

Okay, no problem. With that done, I dropped her off and started on my way out of town. Being nervous, I reached over to the passenger seat to get a cigarette out of my purse.

Only, it wasn’t there.

The pack of cigarettes wasn’t there. And neither was my purse.
So, I found an empty parking lot, got out, and searched the car, thinking it had fallen in the back seat or beneath the front seat. (And gave some passing drivers more of a view than I think any of them would have cared to see.) But still no purse. With no purse, no cigarettes, no money and no driver’s license, I gave in. My excursion wasn’t to be, so I drove home.

And arriving in the parking lot, what do I find? Miraculously, there’s my purse. Untouched! How it fell out, I don’t know, but I’m not one to look gift horses in the mouth.
The drive was mostly uneventful, and the meeting itself is a blur. I seem to remember a room full of people, not talking much. But feeling fine about it. It was weird, yet satisfying.

Was this the most disastrous first support group meeting? Can anyone top it?
Granted, not everyone has been to a support group meeting, but if nothing else, I hope this little tale illustrates that yes, it can be scary, but it’s worth the effort.

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