When I sit in that chair, not only does my stress and anxiety slowly begin to shift away, my vulnerability is opened up. Being vulnerable is one of the most petrifying things in the world, however, I am well aware that without being vulnerable, I will never be able to fully live the life I'd like to, or overcome my inner struggles. That being said, the chair doesn't offer comfort, it offers my ticket to freedom, to an anxiety ridden world. Sitting in the chair, I can look up and see the brink of my blissful horizon.
The strange fascination I have with this chair is an interesting concept in itself. I believe that I find the chair comforting because it's slightly different from what is expected. When you think of seeing a therapist it's common to think of an elder man with glasses, asking things like, "How do you feel about that?" while you're laying on an uncomfortable leather couch. With those thoughts its not unusual to think only crazy people see a shrink. I'm sure the others in the waiting room would say I'm not crazy, however only crazy people think other crazy people aren't crazy. Its a certain type of unwritten courtesy you must have for each other, when the reality is, even the most normal human beings are a bit crazy. But for some reason, walking into a brightly lit room with no couches, or grandpa looking men, and seeing only two completely normal chairs is a mental relief. Normal people don't tell their problems laying down on a couch. They discuss it over a cup of coffee sitting in a chair with a hint of sophistication, and an air of normality. And being normal is what I strive for.
After leaving the waiting room, I go to sit in the other chair, the same representation of the first. My automatic response is to grab the cushion that sits upon the seat. I quickly sit down, and clutch the pillow to my stomach, fingering the orange and yellow striped fringe that borders the fabric.
