I think if I walked into a room of 20 men that all looked like me, had the same name and birth date, had all the same likes and dislikes, I would still feel like an outsider.

Growing up, my mother would constantly remind me that I was not American even though I was born here in NYC and raised just outside of the city. Yes, I am the son of immigrants. I found not being able to identify with African-Americans. I was not raised in a household where stories of the civil rights movement were told by parents and grandparents with first-hand accounts. The culture in our home was different; as with many other immigrant family households I’m sure. This is just one example of me not feeling like I fit it. I was an outsider to my own race.

Later, things like being called on last during gym class or being bullied further had me feeling not-part-of. Coming of age and questioning my sexuality also made me feeling like I was alone.

There were moments where, on the outside, I acted as part of group but I was going through so much turmoil inside that I just didn’t feel like I belonged. I hid this feeling for many years. In those years, came a few attempts at ending my life because of this loneliness.

I should be dead.

Recovery has saved my life. I am not alone, I am not terminally unique; there are others who ‘get me’. We outsiders are the in-crowd.

In recovery I belong; it is here that I put in the effort to stay - one day at a time