The chair feels like I’m seated on a cast iron pan set over a fire. The longer I sat, the more I desperately needed to get up.
Fidgeting and squirming, constantly repositioning myself, it’s like I could feel every single second in my bones. It feels like I’m being touched by thousands of hands, poking and prodding me.
When I was little, I’d gradually slide out of my seat, hoping I could slowly inch away from the sensations. It’s like I’m being tortured.
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