I breathe deep and shake out my shoulders, letting my breath loosen the knots in my stomach. I’ve met enough therapists in my mental health journey that the initial sessions don’t phase me much anymore.
Today is different, though, at least in part because I’ve never met a therapist online. My nerves start to settle as we work through the get-to-know-you questions, and — he blindsides me.
He reaches off-screen and grabs a knife, holding it casually in front of the screen like it’s no big deal. It’s a letter opener, he tells me.
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