By Ana Lo Charlotta Ekelund I was barely nineteen, sitting in a threadbare county financed armchair in a small room in the psychiatry office of my home town, eyes closed, drawing deep breaths of stale air, the smell of coffee, plastic shoe covers and soft soap. ”Deep breath in. Everything is alright” chanted the nurse from her matching armchair. ”Whatever…
By Ana Lo Charlotta Ekelund I was barely nineteen, sitting in a threadbare county financed armchair in a small room in the psychiatry office of my home town, eyes closed, drawing deep breaths of stale air, the smell of coffee, plastic shoe covers and soft soap. ”Deep breath in. Everything…
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