Later, I was back in that hospital basement, trying to describe my feeling of the world being a huge soul-crushing sex conspiracy that I didn’t know how to be a part of. The psychiatrist looked at me dispassionately and said: “Do you think you are attractive to men?” I gaped. Was he being cruel, or just dumb? I had told him that nobody had ever kissed me, or asked me out. And anyway, he himself could see me. Here I was. “No,” I said.
