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I’ll never forget that feeling. It took root deep in the pit of my stomach. Anxiety and nerves crept up my abdomen and gradually branched into the depths of each of my limbs. A constant nausea plagued my body, as I feared what was to come. It was my second day in high school. My family and I had just moved to the remote Bainbridge Island off of Seattle in Washington State. I had lived in Glencoe, Illinois my whole life, and just weeks ago I was uprooted and dropped off on the west coast here to start fresh. I had left for school Wednesday morning, we started midweek, optimistic, thrilled to be the new student. Now it was Thursday, 7:30 in the morning, as I lay in my parents’ bed sleepless and fearing my return to an environment I had already grown to despise. I had only known it for six hours, yet nothing had made me more depressed in my life.
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