I have a love/hate relationship with my therapist. On the one hand, she makes me talk, and on the other hand, she makes me talk. "Hey, Cal. I hear you've had an adventurous week." She sits, relaxed and smiling as I dump my bag on the floor and flop onto a sofa. "I guess..." I mumble staring at my hands. "Want to tell me about it?" "Not really." She makes no comment, just sits and looks. "Fine. My new," air quotes, "'sister' is transphobic trash and now I don't have anywhere I can be myself." "What makes you say that she is transphobic?" "She thinks jokes about there only being two genders are funny." "Hmmm..okay. Where did she hear this joke?" "It was from one of her friends on Facebook." "Okay. Did you tell her why you don't think they are funny?" "She should just know!" "And you think that hitting a wall helped her to t
School looks the same as always: tired and prison-like with it's lack of windows. Someone somewhere decided to build this wreck of a school as an experiment in avoiding distractions. After all, looking outside might lead to actual free thought. The overall effect reminds me of a fort with overflow trailers surrounding the building like siege camps. Rebel fidgets next to me as we head towards the office with Felicia. She clearly wants to be here about as much as me. Yet we both dutifully follow behind her mother, waiting for it all to be over. As we enter the building, I wince. The smell hits me and I am suddenly flooded with sensory memories of stares and insults given by over-perfumed barbies and sweaty, brooding bros. The light glares overhead, turning the skin on my arms even whiter as I stare at my boots. "God, I hate this place," I mumble under my breath. Rebel glances side-eye at me. A small, sympathetic smile flashes on her face before she goes back to he