Gemotions

The elevator ride felt like an eternity. John's palms were slick with sweat. He imagined, as the doors opened, that the air would be thicker, heavier, the moment he stepped out. His childhood nightmare, now a purveyor of "mental wellness," was waiting. He felt a weird, twisted tingle.

He found the office with no trouble. The nameplate on the door read, *Robert Miller, PhD, Clinical Psychologist.* Inside, Robert Miller looked exactly the same. He was wearing the same style of glasses, the same haircut. “John,” he said, his voice measured. “Please, sit down.” John took the seat in front of the desk, the cheap fabric scratching at his skin.

He decided he would start by talking about his back pain.