Saying I felt brave, strong, courageous or triumphant almost four months ago as I sat in the waiting room for my first therapy session to begin would be a inaccurate. My teeth chattered although the air in the room was nowhere close to frigid. My hands were clenched tightly in two fists as if I was waiting to defend myself in a battle of aggression. My left knee bobbed up and down as I nervously shook it, only pausing mere seconds to glance down at the time on my watch.
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