I stood awkwardly in the janitor’s closet of my therapist’s office for a few minutes before working up the nerve to leave.  I was worried that the foundation of positive thinking stitched together in the last 55 minutes could be tangled, or worse, torn apart by the embarrassment of just one moment.  Worse still, I hadn’t even had time to enjoy the healed high before the next spiral started.  Maybe I should have had enough sense to schedule a second appointment later that day.  But no one saw me confidently choose the wrong door.  No one saw my flushed cheeks as I gingerly turned the handle of the one and true exit.  No one noticed me at all.  Yeah, a second appointment really might’ve helped.