The following is something I wrote for a 'Writing Exercise' in which Mr. Greene told us to write about whatever was in our mind that morning. I'm looking for possible critique, maybe thoughts on the piece and how I could better describe what is going on to paint a more detailed picture in the readers' minds? Feedback would be appreciated.
She sat anxiously in the chair, the waiting room now filled with other patients just as miserable as she was. Her anxiety was in over-drive. She couldn't take it anymore, she needed a fix. She reached both hands inside the sleeve of the opposite arm in her sweatshirt. Her eyes shifted and legs bounced as she began scratching. She could feel her nails scrape away layers of skin, her long nails setting fire to her nerves. And suddenly, she felt better. Her eyes were fixed on the shining gold door handle of the psychiatrist's door. The door lead to narrow white hallway with doors on both sides. Thinking about the doctor coming out made her scratch harder, making longer, more painful marks. Every time the the door opens, she digs her nails into her arms, fearful that it may be her doctor who exits. Then she feels the resistance on her skin, the blood that slows her nails down. A challenge that she overcomes by even faster scratching. But now the feverish, fiery scratching becomes clawing, her mind spiraling down. Everything gets quiet, she takes a deep breath, and her surroundings become bearable once more. She closes her eyes and says hello to euphoria...
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