Before that, I dabbled with cutting, but instead settled on starving myself. I was obsessive and anxious. Overachieving and talkative. Driven, but not stable. To anyone paying close attention, it can’t have been any surprise where it all led. I grew up in the suburbs of Lancaster, not far from the colonial row houses of downtown or the rolling cornfields a few miles out. It was a fifty-five-thousand-person city, but in the heart of Amish country—so you might pass by a drug deal on one street and a horse-and-buggy on the next.
