You shuffle into the building, ID in hand as the secretary points you down the hall to the group therapy session. Your mom kept saying that group therapy would help you "stop being such a shut-in."

And she wondered why you'd avoid her like the plague.

As soon as you arrive at the room, you stare at the floor as all eyes turn to you, and you shuffled over to a chair next to a man in a wheelchair- he looked fairly young, at least in his twenties- and he was the only one that didn't keep staring at you after you sat down.

"Don't worry, we're all late every now and then." He says, giving you a reassuring smile as the therapist begins the session.