I am the wisdom of the fallen...

How often, you wonder, has the direction of your life been shaped by such misunderstandings? How many opportunities have you been denied - or, for that matter, awarded - because someone failed to see you properly? How many friends have you lost, how many have you gained, because they glimpsed some element of your personality that shone through for only an instant, and in circumstances you could never reproduce? An illusion of water shimmering at the far bend of a highway.

Maybe from as early as when you're five or six, there's been a whisper going at the back of your head, saying: one day, maybe not so long from now, you'll get to know how it feels. So you're waiting, even if you don't quite know it, waiting for the moment when you realise that you really are different to them; that there are people out there, who don't hate you or wish you any harm, but who nevertheless shudder at the very thought of you - of how you were brought into this world and why - and who dread the idea of your hand brushing against theirs. The first time you glimpse yourself through the eyes of a person like that, it's a cold moment. It's like walking past a mirror you've walked past every day of your life, and suddenly it shows you something else, something troubling and strange.