I admired that word for so long.
If only I could be that, I’d be perfect.
I’d be thin, and I’d be miserable: all I ever wanted.
But when they sat me down in that hospital wing and they showed me the list of my official diagnoses, I read:
Anorexia nervosa, restricting type
And I was miserable, and it was not what I wanted.
I had dreamt of being that word.
Now I wish I had never heard of it in my life.