I eventually gave up, and in resignation I spent the summer between my second junior year and my senior year of college in Boston, attending outpatient eating-disorder treatment and attempting to come out. At the end of each day I would leave the treatment center in Cambridge and head directly to a gay dive bar in Jamaica Plain. I’d walk in alone with my iPod blaring courage into my ears, choose a stool toward the end of the bar, and hover over a vodka soda. After being force-fed three balanced meals at the center, I had already reached my daily calorie allotment. If a woman approached and tried to flirt with me, my heart would jump and I would waver. “I’m straight,” I would protest, too ashamed of myself to accept the advance. I would watch her order a drink, then clench my eyes shut and wince at my own cowardice, hoping she would see my desire through my stated opposition and do the work of pushing past it. As she’d walk away, I would hesitate and call out, “Wait, actually, I’m not!” But by that point it was usually too late. The pattern persisted until I finally learned to take several shots of tequila upon sitting down. Once I started getting too drunk to worry about everyone’s judgment, especially my own, I slept with New England dykes to my queer heart’s content. Each time, I refused to ask for their names or offer mine. I would always accompany them to their places, never to my shared sublet, to guarantee that I could leave before dawn, with no risk of intimacy or even sober interaction.

About a month into treatment, amid these anonymous evening interactions, Anna and I met. She was in for bulimia, an equal but opposite force to my anorexia. Our first coffee date led to drinks, which led to dinner at an actual restaurant rather than the center’s cafeteria, which led to sex.

After we started sleeping together, we would periodically smile at each other across the therapy group; rolling our eyes at the counselors’ false enthusiasm. We were careful to never leave at the same time—dating among patients was frowned upon, it could lead to co-conspiracy against the daily regimen and the recovery process.