Here we are, in this small room with furniture that seems too large. The walls are overwhelmed with framed certificates and generic artwork and photos of the ocean. It makes me wonder how claustrophobics would cope, but before I can ask, she, the short-haired woman who also seems too large for the room, asks me how I am.
Fine, I tell her.
You don’t have to be afraid to tell the truth here, she says. This is a safe place. Everything’s confidential.
Okay, I say.
She asks me how I am again.