It’s supposed to work as a purging exercise, getting out of your system all the negative thoughts you have about yourself, trying to come to terms with your – ultimately – self-inflicted misery. The aim is to come up with at least an essay or a discussion that can be used to help others deal with their own problems. Now and again, someone stands up in front of the class, some more confidently than others, some quite shy and almost stuttering through their words. They’ll put forward an idea they’ve had about, say, what led them into stupidly falling in love with someone who was never going to return that love. Or explaining whatever selfish thing they did that ended up with them forever losing their soul mate. Then it’s open to discussion, no holds barred. It’s not until the third day here that I stand up in front of the class. As soon as I get up there, I regret it. I want to back down, to retire into my own little world once more. But it’s a class of people who perfectly understand what I’m going through.
