Tonight, as I walked in and sat down in the last available wooden chair I began to feel the creepy crawly anxiety creeping it’s way up my legs, into my stomach, and back down again.

What about this place makes me so uncomfortable?

The chair I sit in is hard and slanted, almost like it’s trying to push me out of it’s lap. I look around to see if perhaps I should just sit on the floor.

I remember the last time I was there, I was in a comfortable yet slightly broken recliner.

It’s not my seat, maybe it’s the guy sitting next to me shaking so much I fear he’ll come apart before our eyes in the crowded room where people are sharing their experience, fear, and hopes.

I look around and feel unsettled, again with the sliding feeling as if I’m being pulled gravitationally down to the floor. I look at the floor for a nice spot, and notice it’s dirty and dusty. Why would that matter to me? It’s not like I’m wearing nice slacks. My yoga pants and a fleece jacket were the best I was able to put together. Even before I arrived, I was uncomfortable about going, not knowing until I was there. In the slanted wooden chair.

I push the chair back, I cross my legs. Shortly after, I uncross them and cross the other way. No, it still isn’t working. Surely people can detect my anxiety. Perhaps they understand all too well that this chair, the last open one is not a welcoming chair but a menacing evil ride that has no intentions of being an actual chair.

What happened at the time the wood was chopped down? Could the tree have resented being chopped away, and then striped, sanded, and painted into something a person would use only to put their fat butt into? I can’t blame the chair, I’d rather be standing tall in the woods myself. Not piled into this cramped room with dirty floors listening to the inner thoughts of injured people.

Focus on the topic, focus on why I am there. Focus on why this room makes me uncomfortable. Focus on that. The people? The set up? The chairs? Maybe I could re-arrange the room some time before any of the others showed up? Put a little feng shui on it, make it more inviting and comfortable.

I would definitely vacuum the floors and wipe away the dust. and put out a diffuser to help create a peaceful smell. Diffusers are safer than the candles that burn, or incense. Lest a person forget and leave them burning, burning the place to the ground. That would be bad.

It’s my turn to speak, I have nothing coherent to say so I pass.

Everyone speaks and there is still time left. Before I realize what is happening words are coming from my mouth. Nothing makes any sense. I wrap it up, knowing that I’ve managed to speak words that are of no value.

The last person begins to share.

I finally realize what the problem is with the room. It’s not the people, the dirty floor or the dust.

The room resembles a room from my childhood. The one located at a church that the older men would get together in and watch the latest “game” on television. The room was lined with recliners but much bigger than the room I was currently in.

One day, I happened to have walked into that room taking a break from the church chorus. A man waved me over and greeted me. My back to the wall, hidden from anyone else. He puts his hand into my shorts from the back so that no one could see.

I stand there frozen, unable to move and not understanding what I’d done to allow this to happen. Panic, anxiety, fear and anger are swirling around in my six year old head. Why is he touching my privates and how did I end up in that room? Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to walk into this TV room? I have no idea who any of these men are and this one, acted as if he knew me.

As a predator, he did know me. He saw my sadness, the stamp on my forehead. He knew that I was one that wouldn’t tell. They always know.

Thirty three years later, it still makes me uncomfortable even in a room with others that would understand.

My only hope that the man in the recliner is resting peacefully, twelve feet under in a wooden box his remains being ravaged by worms and insects.