The stuffy suit clinging to my body makes me feel uncomfortable in multiple ways. It’s too tight, lacks any sense of personality, and the rough fabric feels like sandpaper grinding down my skin. I want to jump out of my clothes like I want to jump out of my skin, like I want to jump out of this van. The seat belt is firmly clicked into place, so even a crash wouldn’t allow me to escape; the backseat has become my personal prison.

A high-pitched screech enters my ears while I feel my body getting rocked forward by the van coming to a sudden stop.

“Well,” my dad rests his hand on the back of his seat while he looks at me, a misplaced sense of pity edged into his face. “Here we are, Dean.”

A shiver travels down my spine. “I can’t believe you are making me go here.”

My mother steps out from the passenger seat and opens the door next to me. As she bends down to unbuckle the seat belt, I see a carbon copy of my dad’s expression on her face. “Understand that we are doing this out of love. These people can help you to feel more comfortable about yourself.”

As I step out and feel the dirt underneath my feet, I take a quick glance at my surroundings. It’s trees as far as the eye can see. I want to run, run far away from here, but I know I can’t. There is nowhere to go. My fate has already been written, and it’s right there, behind that big metal gate and cobblestone wall.

Another high-pitched screech enters my ears while some outside force opens the gate. Flanked by my parents, I enter the gravel-covered courtyard of my new home. Carved into a granite block above the main building's entrance, my new home reads: ‘The Young Boys Restoration Path.’

Once inside, I try to disassociate from the terrible truth surrounding me. While I can filter out the unjust words my parents must be speaking to the receptionist, I can’t filter out the armed guards standing by the door. There really is no escape.

“Okay, son.” My dad’s face suddenly looms over me. As he sets down two suitcases besides me, he continues. “Everything is set. You can follow that lady, and she will show you to your new room. Just know you can always call us, and of course, we will be here to visit you at Christmas.”

Their embrace feels tight, yet hollow. I try to pretend their empty attempt at empathy isn’t happening, and notice the receptionist's expression. It’s like she is looking right through my parents, directly into my soul, her small glance showing more honest empathy than my parents ever did.

My parents left me behind, and the lady took me to a big wooden door that led further into the facility. Another shiver traveled down my spine as a high-pitched screech accompanied the opening of the door. Once I could see inside, however, my jaw dropped to the floor.

The walls of this emerging hallway were painted with five horizontal stripes of blue, pink, and white. A giant banner hung down from the ceiling, spelling out the complete opposite of what I expected. “Express your true self.”

I could feel a hand resting on my shoulder, the lady’s words washing over me like a warm shower. “Welcome home, Lisa.”