We met at therapy. Not his therapy, mine. He was the instructor – the tutor for us emotionals. Unlike the others, I came for myself, not for my family or the free housing. I was a minority – the nut who wanted to get better. At least that’s what I told myself – why I went, that is. But when I looked deep down, the real reason was that I was ashamed. Ashamed of all the times I had breakdowns in public, the ones where everyone stared and shrunk away. Ashamed of how my neighbors would pick carefully around me and tactfully avoid almost all personal contact with me because of my obvious instablities. Ashamed of how even my own daughter shunned me after her daddy gained custody. So technically, he was meant to be.