It has been a long time now since I looked in a mirror, since I looked in a mirror and loved what looked back at me. No, the last time I looked in a mirror I gave myself cuts all up my arm after smashing it. I didn’t like what was in the mirror, I wanted a reflection of a beautiful teenage girl with long hair and a perfect figure, that had her whole life planned out. Yet instead I would stare into the mirror: not because I was cocky or overly confident, in fact I wasn’t confident at all and yet I would still venture to the mirror longing for someone I thought looked pretty like everyone else to be staring back at me , I used that mirror like a drug, a drug to keep me humble and remind me what an ugly person I am. I was embarrassed when I looked in that mirror for looking back at me was what could only compare to an old pig - stripes marked my thighs like a zebra standing out amongst the herd of horses it tried to surround itself with and fit in with , my clothes seemed to be ready to burst at the seems at any minute ,as my body squeezed into them desperately. I would poke and prod at my tummy , craving for me to possibly poke so hard that the curves would disappear forever. My fingers would leave marks on my tummy and drops of water would often overflow out of my eyes so much so that I struggled to breathe. It hurt. I would throw on my hoodie and joggers in hopes to hide any ugliness beneath, as for my face I would use every makeup product I could lay my greedy hands on to cover what lurked below. I would remind myself everyday that there was no point, yet I did it anyway : it was like putting makeup on a pig.