I sat there, unable to speak, as the therapist watched my every glance, sweat, and shift in movement. If I drank water, she wrote it down, noting the time. It was as if my thirst was an indicator of strife. I’m fourteen, I get thirsty. I guess therapists write everything down.
She took my diary. I don’t write the important stuff down in that one,
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I'm so sorry for everything you have been through, but I'm glad to know you are finding a way through the pain now.
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