The room Melissa used for her therapy sessions—the room I was guided to by the receptionist—slowly began to fill with people. I sat in one of the chairs in the middle of the room—the ones that were placed in a circle—and watched the people who came in with curious, alert eyes. These people were like me. It was a weird thought to think but it was true. All of my life, I believed there was something wrong with me, that there was no one like me. And yet, as each person came into the room—each of them different races, genders, and ethnicities—I was reminded that they were going through the same thing I was going through.
Many of them looked at me curiously, instantly sniffing out the new face in the group, but they each offered me smiles as they took their seats. In the end, there were sevent
