facing the corners.
"Okay," Katie began. "I'd like you all to meet Dr. Black. He's going to be watching the group for a few days and eventually he's going to take over, so let’s all show him how much we can get done. Who wants to start today?"
Mr. Fat's name was too appropriate. He was a caricature out of some Flannery O'Connor short story. I almost snickered when I realized who he was. Mr. Fat was morbidly obese on a level that is rarely seen in day-to-day life. His legs were so fat that cellulite puckers dripped off of his ankles, and even the bony parts of his skull bulged with excess weight. He smiled lazily at me across the room and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. Surprisingly, he was one of the most well-spoken patients in the chronic ward. His pathology wasn’t so easily seen as everyone else's.
"Well," Mr. Fat began slowly, with a drawl you could almost see dragging across the floor. "I've been good since I've been here. I've been following the rules and I think I should be able to go home now." Every syllable he uttered was slow and laden with the heaviness of his presence.
"Hmmmm," Katie responded thoughtfully. "What brought you here?" she asked.
"They said I was too fat."
"Is that the only reason you’re here?"
"I eat too much." He whined like a little girl when he talked.
"What does your treatment plan say?"
"It says I'm fat."
"I think it says more than that. You haven't noticed any other behaviors that you think need to be changed?"
"No."
"They wouldn't have put you in here for just being fat."
"They did."
"Let's ask the group. Maybe they can help. What does everyone else think? Is being fat the only reason that Mr. Fat is here?"
An emaciated man in a red leather jacket virtually leapt out of his chair and very rapidly said, "He's one crazy motherfucker."
"What does that mean, Mr. Nicca?" Katie asked.
"He's crazy fucked, man. Y’all seen him. He be nasty. He gets his food and eats until he barfs and then he keeps on eating. Nasty piece of shit."
"Fuck you," Mr. Fat said. His speech became less slow in his anger.
"So you’re saying that he eats his food, vomits on it, and continues eating?" I asked.
"And that ain't all that nasty fucker does. He be nasty."
"Let's focus on this one thing. Do you think it is healthy to eat your own vomit?" Katie asked Mr. Fat.
"They don't let me eat. They hate me. I'm hungry all the time."
"Do you think it is normal to eat your own vomit?"
"I don't know," Mr. Fat whimpered.
"Before you were here, at the institution, did you see other people eating their own vomit?"
"No."
"So do you think it's normal?"
"Probably not."
"Do you think this is something you might need to change before you leave?"
"Maybe."
"So, there is more than your being fat keeping you here?"
"Yes."
"How are you going to change this behavior?"
"I won't do it anymore."
"You can ask for seconds."
"I'll ask for seconds."
"What else is keeping you here?" Katie asked.
"I just wanna go home."
"Where would you go?"
"To my mamma's house."
"Your mamma has already said she doesn't want you living with her. Isn't that right?"
"I don't know why."
"So where would you go?" Katie asked again.
"My mamma loves me."
"Why doesn't your mamma want you at home?"
"I don't know."
"Think about it."
"She was trying to starve me. She was always with them, trying to starve me. It wasn't my fault."
"We've been over this a hundred times. I'm not asking about what your mamma did, I'm asking what you did. Why can't you go home?"
"I stabbed her."
"You don't think that is something you should work out before you go home? Is it normal to stab people because they take your toast away?"
"I reckon not."
"So why are you here?"
"Cause I hurt people when I get too mad."
"Right."
"I can't listen to 'em anymore. I just gotta say to myself they ain't real. No one is trying to steal the food."
"Very good. Now next time you come to group I want you to be able to tell me why you’re here the
"Okay," Katie began. "I'd like you all to meet Dr. Black. He's going to be watching the group for a few days and eventually he's going to take over, so let’s all show him how much we can get done. Who wants to start today?"
Mr. Fat's name was too appropriate. He was a caricature out of some Flannery O'Connor short story. I almost snickered when I realized who he was. Mr. Fat was morbidly obese on a level that is rarely seen in day-to-day life. His legs were so fat that cellulite puckers dripped off of his ankles, and even the bony parts of his skull bulged with excess weight. He smiled lazily at me across the room and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. Surprisingly, he was one of the most well-spoken patients in the chronic ward. His pathology wasn’t so easily seen as everyone else's.
"Well," Mr. Fat began slowly, with a drawl you could almost see dragging across the floor. "I've been good since I've been here. I've been following the rules and I think I should be able to go home now." Every syllable he uttered was slow and laden with the heaviness of his presence.
"Hmmmm," Katie responded thoughtfully. "What brought you here?" she asked.
"They said I was too fat."
"Is that the only reason you’re here?"
"I eat too much." He whined like a little girl when he talked.
"What does your treatment plan say?"
"It says I'm fat."
"I think it says more than that. You haven't noticed any other behaviors that you think need to be changed?"
"No."
"They wouldn't have put you in here for just being fat."
"They did."
"Let's ask the group. Maybe they can help. What does everyone else think? Is being fat the only reason that Mr. Fat is here?"
An emaciated man in a red leather jacket virtually leapt out of his chair and very rapidly said, "He's one crazy motherfucker."
"What does that mean, Mr. Nicca?" Katie asked.
"He's crazy fucked, man. Y’all seen him. He be nasty. He gets his food and eats until he barfs and then he keeps on eating. Nasty piece of shit."
"Fuck you," Mr. Fat said. His speech became less slow in his anger.
"So you’re saying that he eats his food, vomits on it, and continues eating?" I asked.
"And that ain't all that nasty fucker does. He be nasty."
"Let's focus on this one thing. Do you think it is healthy to eat your own vomit?" Katie asked Mr. Fat.
"They don't let me eat. They hate me. I'm hungry all the time."
"Do you think it is normal to eat your own vomit?"
"I don't know," Mr. Fat whimpered.
"Before you were here, at the institution, did you see other people eating their own vomit?"
"No."
"So do you think it's normal?"
"Probably not."
"Do you think this is something you might need to change before you leave?"
"Maybe."
"So, there is more than your being fat keeping you here?"
"Yes."
"How are you going to change this behavior?"
"I won't do it anymore."
"You can ask for seconds."
"I'll ask for seconds."
"What else is keeping you here?" Katie asked.
"I just wanna go home."
"Where would you go?"
"To my mamma's house."
"Your mamma has already said she doesn't want you living with her. Isn't that right?"
"I don't know why."
"So where would you go?" Katie asked again.
"My mamma loves me."
"Why doesn't your mamma want you at home?"
"I don't know."
"Think about it."
"She was trying to starve me. She was always with them, trying to starve me. It wasn't my fault."
"We've been over this a hundred times. I'm not asking about what your mamma did, I'm asking what you did. Why can't you go home?"
"I stabbed her."
"You don't think that is something you should work out before you go home? Is it normal to stab people because they take your toast away?"
"I reckon not."
"So why are you here?"
"Cause I hurt people when I get too mad."
"Right."
"I can't listen to 'em anymore. I just gotta say to myself they ain't real. No one is trying to steal the food."
"Very good. Now next time you come to group I want you to be able to tell me why you’re here the
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