“When I was twelve—” I clear my throat. “—I had been seeing a psychiatrist for a few months. My parents were freaked about how reclusive I was. They thought talking to someone other than them would be good for me.” Even all these years later, I can see the small version of myself going into those appointments, spending hours just sitting on a leather couch, playing chess and talking about nothing. There wasn’t anything wrong with me. I was just quiet.
