I looked into the big mirror on my stark white wall. My room was like a cubicle cell, like a prison. Completely clean, no imperfections. It was suffocating.

The mirror that took up half the wall made it seem a little bigger than it was, but I hated it. Because I knew what it was really there for.

“I know you’re watching me.” I said clearly, my voice bouncing off the walls in a weird way.

All I saw in the mirror was me: my hair a blonde birds nest on my head, scratches and bruises all over my skin, and wearing a dirty hospital gown. I looked terrible.

I knew I couldn’t cry at that moment, because then I would look weak, and they would see it. So I just thought about grass, and the sky, and the sun.

“If you’re there, mom, please, let me out.” My voice cracked, and I could feel a painful lump forming in my throat.

“Please… for your daughter’s sake. Don’t you love me?”