Gemotions

The sterile white of the support group meeting room seemed to amplify the silence. They were all there: the sufferers of the rare ailment, all linked by the same cruel twist of fate. He sat at the back, arms crossed, observing. He felt a burning in his chest and a need to watch the others.

The facilitator, a bubbly woman named Emily, was going around the circle, encouraging people to share their “stories of resilience.” He watched each one with the detached interest of a scientist, their words passing through him, barely registering. He watched her.

When it was his turn, he waited. "I've found," he said, his voice flat, "that the only thing that works is to embrace the symptoms." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "To really *own* them." Emily beamed at him, praising his 'acceptance'. He almost laughed. He wasn't accepting. He was planning. He was watching.