A week after graduating from college, I sat in the waiting room listening to classical music drowning out all other noises. I was extremely anxious and did not know what to expect. My stomach was in knots. When the door opened, a tall, professor-like man walked out and greeted me. He introduced himself, "Hi, I am Joe Bauserman," and he shook my hand. As I walked into his office, I was scared, desperate, and longing for hope.
In the corner of his office sat an uncomfortable looking striped armchair. It was clear to me that most people chose the couch, but I was not going to be like most people. The couch felt too big for me. At that moment, I wanted to be small and to feel surrounded by the arms of the chair. I wanted to see if I could slip into the striped fabric and not divulge all the places inside me that feel raw, wounded, and bleeding.
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