Six decades of wondering who--or what--you are, and sometimes seeming to be no more than a collection of labels. So many labels, none of them official--I've escaped the clutches of the helpers, except for one miserable drugged year. It grinds a bit to have gotten so far, and still be struggling to find myself.

I live on a pendulum. I'm just lucky that it doesn't swing too far in either direction, or I might not have escaped so easily. Also lucky that I was a quiet, self-sufficent child who didn't cause trouble. And maybe more lucky that my parents were fairly oblivious. As long as their offspring weren't obviously unhappy or troubled, food, clothing, and a roof over our heads were their major responsibilities. No outstretched helping hands to trip me up. Also nobody to tell me why I was so different.

It's been a slow process, doing the research, stepping outside myself to see what's going on with this strange creature. One label aafter another, most of them valid in one way or another, but behind them all--the pendulum. It's always been the pendulum that mattered, even when I didn't have a clue about its existence.