“I won’t tell,” he assured me. “Ain’t nobody watching.”

•

On Day 19 we wrote “goodbye” letters. I was advised to write two: one to love addiction, and another to my toxic relationship with my mother. When it was time to read them out loud, I volunteered to go first. Once again, Charlotte and Richard were sitting beside me, the empty chair facing me.

Still unable to visualize her, I spoke directly to the chair. “I’ll always remember the way you mix up your words, and ask me ‘what’s the count’ when we’re playing a board game, or for ‘IB-buffin’ when you have a headache.” I tried to keep it light this time, especially after the H.I.T. list. I looked up between sentences, expecting people to laugh, or to at least smile, but no one did. “I think I’ll stop here,” I said, folding up the letter and tucking it into my pocket.

“How do you feel?” Charlotte asked.

I shrugged. I felt nothing. “I feel nothing,” I said. I got up and returned to my seat in the circle. Greg read his letter to heroin, Molly to her meth-addicted and manipulative boyfriend, and Alex to his martyr habit, of which we’d managed to convince him. The three of them wept while reading their letters. Once we were done, Richard and Charlotte suggested that we give one another hugs. They both joined in and made their way around the room. I stood with my arms crossed, finding this all somewhat sentimental and unnecessary. By the time Richard pulled out the stereo and put on R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts,” I felt entirely embarrassed by the gratuitousness of this spectacle. I watched Alex sob into Charlotte’s arms as Michael Stipe whined in the background. Greg cried into her, too, though I figured he just wanted her boobs pressed against him. When he finally let go, Charlotte started walking toward me. I sat down as she approached, and she veered off to hug someone else.

As I watched the others, I felt something swirling around inside me, like leaves before a storm. I was breathing heavily and starting to shiver again. Bubbles were once again popping in my throat.

“Why don’t we take a twenty-minute break,” Richard said.

I exploded out of the room with my notebook. I ran down to the basement, found an isolated corner, and scribbled out another letter. I wrote with fury and without punctuation until I heard the bell ring: break was over.

Back in the group room Charlotte started explaining another activity. I interrupted her.

“Charlotte,” I called out, “I’m not feeling well.”

“Do you want to lie down?”