One
“You're here because you've begun to accept something about yourself,” he began, the same as always. At the front of a poorly lit room with a biting smell. It stank of dampness, like a garden hose was left to drip for months; The aroma of mildew, so heavy in the air, found a home in your nose as quickly as it came kicking in the door. Lately a whiff of cigarette smoke often came with it. He'd never really noticed it before, but after parents died it often left him feeling nostalgic. One of the three windows had broken in an ice storm a couple years ago, and rather than bother to have it replaced the group decided boarding over it was just as good. It even helped to serve as a bit of a proclamation about themselves, a joke that came up enough for three lifetimes. On their own, it would be hard to consider that they could be something he'd miss, but standing here now, the last time he'd planned to do so, Daniel tried very hard to capture each sensation of his environment as he continued.
He scanned the faces in his meager crowd of a dozen, looking for the right eyes to hear the right words to really captivate them. It was as much a dance as a sales pitch -- with a goal not unlike dating. One person taking a shot at connecting with someone else over shared trauma.
His own past traumatic experiences brought him to the front of the room where he stood now. A childhood fraught with alcoholism and abuse before ending succinctly at the age of 13 following his parents accident. His family told him that it was an accident, but he knew how frequently his dad drank before driving. A couple years earlier and he might've believed the car left the roadway for reasons not relating to his dad's inebriation, but not at 13. Daniel marked it as his first harsh lesson of the realities of the world. He swore he'd never tell anyone that he was grateful he wouldn't have to suffer their abuse anymore, and he made sure to cry at the funeral.
“You've begun to accept that you're a fucking mess,” he continued. Daniel would let out a light chuckle as he said those last words. It usually got a laugh out of the crowd, somewhat to his annoyance. Those words were his turning point years earlier. Said through tears to the reflection looking back at himself. Until then his only reprieve were his attempts at self-medicating using weed and alcohol. They'd added nothing more to his life than frequent hangovers and a fucked up diet of fast food at truly confusing hours. It was this speech to himself that marked the turning point and acceptance of himself. His unremarkable continuance through the timeline of human civilization had always felt difficult, but recently he'd begun viewing the world with more hostility. He'd become convinced that all that befell him was strife, anger, confusion, and insincerity. And at this moment of acceptance in his apartment mirror he felt well and truly broken. Irreparably.
The reactions to the bluntness of his choice words and composure were pretty telling of those listening. Some would become stiff and focused -- keen to not let their first impression be too obvious to members of The Broken. Some would betray a pang of sadness and acknowledgement. Not hiding the fact that they agreed wholeheartedly with the accusation, occasionally becoming teary eyed. The others just chuckled right back. The laughers always seemed to skew more towards violent acts. They weren't here because they wanted to get better. They wore their admittance as a badge. An accolade to be proud of. And while Daniel never pictured them as the type who might join his support group when he first put up flyers, he knew too well the narrow line between sadness and anger, and had walked both paths plenty in his life.
He never pointed that out to Mason, though. Even though Daniel was usually an enthusiastic participant in their moments as 'Agents of Chaos', they often started as schemes Mason had come up with. And no matter how many times Daniel gave this speech with Mason in the room, he always laughed.
Daniel always saw himself most in the ones who came to tears.
“You struggle to fit into a mold that was never meant for you. You run into its walls constantly.”
From childhood he was always driven towards improving. As often as not, he'd fail at anything but nominal improvements, but was insistent on progressing a little bit at a time. He saw that part of himself in those that cried when he called them a 'fucking mess.' Most often they were joyful people, intent on improving themselves during their time with the group. They still yearned for meaningful connections and among their new peers they could build and grow them. They wanted to belong but for whatever reason never did, or lost that belonging along the way. Before reaching him, these were the people who got up every morning and put on their masks. A mask like this never grows lighter over time. Sure, it changes, but it stays just as heavy, and on a long enough timeframe eventually becomes too heavy to put back on one day. That's why they were here. That's why he was here.
“You're broken.”
Any chuckles or murmurs quickly quieted. New faces he'd never seen before, and old eyes of current members gazed, Mason included. All eyes transfixed on him. Their eyes wide with anticipation and eagerness to be seen. Leaning forward imperceptibly to meet his gaze and hear what came next. He always paused at this point. Sometimes long pauses, sometimes short. Dictated by the size of the crowd. He always made sure he could make eye contact with everyone and slowly skimmed the crowd to do so. These new faces weren't here for a good reason. Standing before a crowd with that vulnerability laid bare, was hard -- regardless of how they reacted to his speech. He recognized that. It's why it was always important to Daniel that he saw each of them at this moment.
“Welcome,” he concluded.
The applause that followed that line always sent a chill down his spine, though he never really stopped to consider why.