I've just started at <a href=" http://verulamwebdesign.co.uk/testimonials#desperate ">fluconazole amazon.co.uk</a> At an Encounter therapy group I was casually ripped for not dressing properly and not combing my hair (scrawny white kid looking like a derelict &mdash; the group members saw me as a pathetic creature and they were going to score points with staff and release a little venom). I told them to go to hell. That's when Jim stood up. Jim was a white, middle aged, powerfully built junkie from the Midwest who wore plaid shirts and was melodramatically serious. He had wrist-to-elbow razor-blade scars on the inside of each of his arms from a suicide attempt. He once told the story of how he got drunk when he was twelve years old and chainsawed the heads off his father's pigs. Jim walked across the circle toward me; I assumed he was going to attack. Reflexively I stood up to accept whatever was coming. He reached out and grabbed me in a tight hug. Later he'd smile at me psychotically and insist that I was just like he was as a boy.