Let's Have a Chat

After the kick and hurry weekend I faced, with a poor refereeing performance followed by a day of complete and utter laziness as my Sunday game was postponed, my latest session of CBT nearly passed me by with the blink of an eye. Only a few hours earlier, I was sat at home, reading the first of what will be many refereeing biographies that were kindly donated to me, when it dawned on me that I was due at Queens Park Neighbourhood Centre at 6pm on Monday for the first of 5 sessions of 'Group CBT'. All of a sudden, I became quite apprehensive and nervous. I had found it a challenge to talk to a therapist one-on-one, but to other people? I'm not so sure...

5.30pm came alarmingly fast and we were ready for the off. I sat in the passenger seat of Mother Mitten's Peugeot 306, in light blue, terrified out of my skin. I had been absolutely fine for a couple of weeks now, without the need to call anyone or talk things through, but as soon as the therapy that was designed to help had come, I was in bits. Almost to the point where I nearly snapped at Mother Mitten as we struggled to find the venue, something that is completely out of my nature. I don't get angry, so why am I acting angrily?

Upon entry, wondering whether or not I was in the right place, I was greeted by a camp sounding young man called Lawrence, who shook my hand. I used to be great at meeting new people. A confident persona, solid posture and a strong handshake however, was replaced by a barely recognisable figure, a stuttering voice and a handshake that seemed to suggest I had never shaken someone's hand before. What was happening to me? The air had a feeling of negativity in it, and the surroundings almost resembled a care home, as I was invited to make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Even remembering how to make a cuppa was difficult, as by now my thoughts had developed and spiralled and the rational thinking that had made the last fortnight an unfounded success had unravelled in front of my very eyes and lay in a metaphorical mess in front of me. I didn't want to be there. Judging by the last two weeks I had had, I didn't need to be there. But clearly, given I was falling apart somewhat, there was obviously a reason I was there.

In the 15 minutes between my arrival and the start of the session I had composed myself a little. The arrival of the other "patients", for want of a better word, seemed to calm me down. Each as quiet and reserved as the next one, the people that filed in through the door came from all walks of life. Mothers, fathers, businessmen, foreigners, but I was probably the youngest in the group of roughly 20. Lawrence then invited us into the next room, where 3 rows of 7 seats were set out in front a projector and a whiteboard. On the seats, lay a monstrous folder with a million pieces of paper in. The slides for the next 2 hours, including a couple of forms and questions to answer, I almost felt like I was in a University lecture, (not that I know what that feels like of course!) Then a woman walked in, resembling River Song in the Doctor Who series, and she began talking. The first 10 minutes were a blur, as she spoke about how this wasn't "counselling" but "therapy". Why she needed 10 minutes to explain the difference was quite frankly, bizarre, but then we moved on to finding out a little bit more about a few people in the group. She said she would write down 2 words on the whiteboard, and invite us to talk to the person next to us, which word we preferred. What I was expecting were words of emotion, like 'Happy' or 'Fulfilled'.

I was quite surprised then when the first couple of words were written down, and as she stepped back, I saw the words, 'Football' or 'Tennis' written down. Excuse me? How is this helping? I got the feeling the rest of the group was wondering what on Earth was going on aswell, however, with bemusement, I turned to my left to speak to the middle-aged man next to me, who looked horribly nervous, and asked what he preferred. His thoughts shall remain private.

Other combinations included, Cat vs Dog (neither), Chinese vs Indian (Indian all day long), and Beach Holidays vs Activity Holidays (a bit of both) and after 15 minutes or so, I suppose I knew a few people around me a bit better than I did at 6pm. The rest of the session passed by, with Lawrence and Sue swapping at different intervals, with me trying not to fall asleep as I realised Lawrence had the serious voice of a monotoned statue. His campness had somewhat disappeared, and he had turned into a bog-standard politician. 8pm came around eventually, and after waiting for a while to sign for a couple of brochures to take home, I rushed out of the building to be greeted by both Mother and Father Mitten. Strange. They don't usually come together to come and pick me up from things, but this time they had. Despite their claims that they had come to help each other navigate, I got the feeling they had come to show that they were both there for me, and to support me through this. I was touched, but still a little discontent as we drove home. I had been as positive as I have ever have in the last 3 years that afternoon, and in the space of 3 hours, I had changed from happy to irrational and thought-provoking madness. Why is my brain such a complicated place?

I went to sleep fairly late last night aswell, although I blame that more on Jeff Winter's journey from boot boy to Premiership referee, but as I woke up, later than usual, today, I just didn't feel right. That feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that just screams, "Why am I doing this?" In the past, I'd have just stayed asleep, wishing for it to go away, but at least today, I physically fell out of bed, landing on the assortment of plugs on the floor once more and tried to fill the day. What happened was a lot more book reading, a lot of laptop dossing and a half-hearted attempt at a bike ride, but also a lot more clock watching. I suppose I should have learnt my lesson by now. Being busy equals busy mind. A busy mind cannot think about problems, and "stuff" seems fine.

The one thought I just cannot get out of my head though, is that this latest stage of the blues, was triggered by a session that is designed to get rid of them. The very thing that is supposed to fight these thoughts, create them in the first place. Surely there's something not right about that?