I don’t use the term “lifelong hero” frivolously. There are a lot of people I respect and wish to emulate; Annie Lennox, however, is the only “lifelong hero” I’ll ever have. I need her.
The self was attacking the self. My body was blaming itself: it didn't matter how many times I said or anyone else said, “It isn't your fault.” I believed it was.
Whereas I once was “Abby, the girl who harbored a ridiculous but harmless amount of love for that weird ’80s singer, Annie Lennox,” I was now suddenly “Abby, the girl most parents might want their teenage children to avoid.”