“Loser, you’re a loser,” my classmates taunt, pointing at my cleft lip while I shrink into hopeless oblivion

As told to Devorah Grant

I

grip my red and black suitcase tightly and step out of my parents’ car, my palms clammy, heartbeat uncertain. My pillow is with me, as well as my purple blanket — beacons of security in the unknown that lies ahead. We’re here, at the famous ranch. The ranch is made for girls like me. As I glance up at the metal horse just outside the brick building, I wonder if this will be a place where I’ll finally be allowed to be me….

“Loser, you’re a loser,” my classmates taunt, pointing at my cleft lip while I shrink into hopeless oblivion. Just two more hours until home.

Here, I hope it will be different….

I meet the clinical director in the lobby, and my muscles begin to relax. She seems friendly, kind, and non-judgmental, as do the staff members who wave as they walk past. A fish blows gentle bubbles in the fish tank nearby; the water ripples. As I say goodbye to my parents, a butterfly of hope begins to flutter in my heart.

I’m led into the high-ceilinged dining room, where I’m introduced to the other girls and staff members. Over a colorful supper, we chat, slivers of our stories emerging. There’s a certain ease to it, a warmth. No one here expects me to have it all together, and that’s so different from anything I’ve ever experienced before.

 During tenth grade things get really bad. I face days of isolation. My thoughts and emotions are working faster than I can keep up. I feel useless, hopeless, like my world is caving in. I don’t know how to escape before everyone realizes.

Here, it feels different.