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For the second time, after weeks of contemplation, I mustered the courage to join a support group for people with my condition.

I briefly flirted with an online forum a few months ago, never having met anyone else with this diagnosis, but my membership only lasted a couple of days before I backed out and cut myself off again.

This time was different: a meetup via video call with others, face to face. It was billed as a friendly space for a random chat for those feeling a bit down, or a place to ask questions and seek advice.

But this time my enthusiasm lasted precisely four minutes before I let myself out, heading for the virtual exit. I had seen and heard enough to know this wasn’t a good fit for me.

One participant was vaping constantly. Another kept swigging from a can of beer. The conversation had already taken a funny turn, the jovial atmosphere too much at odds with the glum melancholy I’ve carried the past days.

Perhaps I should have given it a bit more time, waiting patiently to see who else might join, and what might come up, to listen to the experiences of others, and perhaps come to a greater understanding of myself.

But not today, not this time. I immediately felt myself out of place. Those were not my people. Who are my people? Still searching. Let me rely on the One for aid and support: the One who created me this way.