I went to a friends friends art show and almost every person there had some kind of funky haircut, facial piercings, visible tattoos, or weird style. I had never felt so at home. The art show was centered around this devastating voicemail the artist received in her freshman year in college. The voicemail consisted of her high school friend telling her she needs to repent or suffer the consequences of hell for being gay. I found a violent sort of solidarity with her and, presumably, the other attendees, who seemed to have experienced something similar given the reactions to the show.
It's heartbreaking to think this many people have been ripped open and sewed themselves together after such an experience, but I'm happy to not feel so alone. To find sanctuary in others healing. It's home. That's the only way I can describe it. Home.