I sat there and I couldn’t process anything. Although I was responding, my face was blank, and my eyes were empty. She’d realised I had left, my body was present on her couch, but I wasn’t.

I sat there and stared. I noticed how the bars outside her window, as a security measure, reminded me of the ones much like a prison would have. How the clock on the wall made every second feel like an eternity. That I had broken the strap on my bag from fiddling so subconsciously. How my body rocked back and fourth slightly in an attempt at self comfort.

That this was still no better. That I was still no better. I had been sitting in this room for little over a year, and I was experiencing the same things. That my mind and my body could not get solace. It felt like they never would.