When I looked in the mirror, I saw myself. But it wasn’t really me. It looked like me on the outside, but it didn’t feel like me. I couldn’t accept that it was me. All I could see was a wretched being, a twisted version of someone once pure. The person I stared at was not someone to be proud of, not someone you wanted to be around. They were hateful, sinful, destructive, depressing. That’s how I knew it wasn’t me. I was loving, caring and happy. This was a mirror image. A false image. I was happy. I WAS happy… And that’s when I realized the truth of reality. That’s not how mirrors worked. What you see is what’s there. What you see is how others see you. This mirror wasn’t the lie, I was. Every “I’m fine” or “it’s ok”. What happened to me? What happened to the little girl who smiled at everything, even when the sun was at its dimmest. That girl would’ve pointed out how there was still a sun, despite the shadows. I needed her back. I needed myself back. I needed to change. So that nothing seems different when I look in the mirror.