TW: eating disorder, talk of attempted suicide (no description of the attempt itself, just mentions)

As I stood inspecting the blue eyes ahead of me, I wondered silently to myself how we'd reached this precarious situation.

The eyes stared back at me in anger and frustration but behind the ocean-blue irises that watched me carefully was a glimmer of sadness. In that microscopic glimmer hid the shame, embarrassment and utter heartbreak at what the two of us had turned into.

Together, we'd destroyed ourselves and ultimately broken the shell of who I was and for what? Control? Power? Or was what I'd done to the young woman who stood showing her unadulterated self back to me from her reflective prison simply some kind of slow torture I'd come up with in an attempt to punish me for all my years of wrongdoing?

Steam from my shower fogged and dulled the thin woman in front of me. Through the haze that separated us I looked at the girl's sullen face and dark bags hanging under her once hopeful eyes. Here I was, having the same silent conversation once again with the woman in the mirror.

Why? I found myself asking my own subconscious silently in my head. Even though I knew what led me here, I still couldn't for the life of me figure out exactly why I had brought myself here.

I supposed it all started back in late high school which was roughly 8 years ago now. Unfortunately for me, I'd always been a late-bloomer when it came to 'developing' so it wasn't until I was nearly 18 and graduated for my body to catch up with all the other young women in my class. Gradually, I watched this same woman in this exact mirror grow curves and a womanly figure like so many of the rest of my classmates already had.

One should be happy about that, shouldn't she? After years of being a literal twig of a person, I had finally 'made it' and looked like so many of the women that surrounded me.

It wasn't until I stepped on the scale at my yearly doctor's appointment that everything began to go downhill.

The number that stared back at me was alarming. It must have been a good twenty-some pounds more than I'd ever weighed in my entire life. Sure, the doctor told me that it was a fine number and that I wasn't obese or anything, but I couldn't get that stupid number out of my head. It haunted me and soon the scale at home began to call my name as if egging me towards it.

It didn't take long after that for me to allow that number and the scale to completely take control of my life.

Each morning, I woke up and stepped on the scale. I waited with baited breath for the number to blink back up at me and tell me just how much I was allowed to eat that day. While I usually stuck to anywhere from 600-800 calories, if I gained so much as a pound from one day to the next I slashed the calories down even further in hopes to push away the excess weight I'd put on from the day before.

Every day, I put my small notebook into the side pocket of my backpack and carried it with me so before any item of nutrition could even enter my mouth, I had to write down it's caloric quality. And it wasn't just food I was tracking either- I wrote down every single thing that I took in including sauces, gum, and even single bites of food I either gave up on or simply chose not to finish.

Even with all of that hard work it took to focus on my new routine, calories weren't the only thing I was counting.

Since I had picked up a part-time job that I juggled with school, I had saved up enough money to sign up for a gym membership. It was there that I really committed to the lifestyle I'd chosen to take up.

No matter rain, snow, or perfect sunlight that cascaded upon mother nature's brilliant landscape, I went to that gym. I'd spent hours working out; sometimes up to three hours a day if I didn't have work that night. Some days I'd chose to get up extra early and drive myself to the gym for a quick workout before school started. Other times I'd simply head over there after school and work out the frustrations of the day until I could hardly stand.

It didn't matter to me, my health. I thought that what I was doing was healthy and that my schedule- while tight and highly controlled –was simply a way to help me get my life back on track. By the time I graduated high school, I had lost all of those extra twenty-some pounds I'd put on and then some. If I wasn't a twig before, I certainly had become one at that point but each time I looked in the mirror, the same ugly girl I'd grown up despising stared back at me and sang only one tune: You aren't doing enough. You'll never be good enough. Not for you, not for your parents and certainly not for Arnold.

You see, Arnold and I had become friends through the years, but never much more than that. It seemed to me that I either wasn't his type, or rather, anyone's type. I watched as all of my friends began to date one another, some happier than others, while I stood by on the sidelines pining for a boy who didn't seem to notice me the way I had always hoped he one day would. It was shortly after the realization that nobody saw me as anything romantically that I took up the disordered eating lifestyle. I think subconsciously I figured that since nobody cared about me like that, why should I care about myself?

While I had lost significant weight before and shortly after graduation, it didn't take long for everything to fall apart entirely once I moved out and started attending college.

I had elected to go to school for a major in English which was something I thought I could excel in given my natural ability to write. Each and every night, I would sit in front of my computer and stay up until the wee hours of the morning to write paper after paper for my various assignments. To stay up that long unfortunately, it meant that I took up a dangerous hobby- binge eating.

For so many months previously I'd forced myself to say no to all of the things I loved in life when it came to food. Funnily enough, the moment I could once again eat all of the things I'd longed to have for some time, I couldn't stop myself from shoving mass quantities of various foods into my face-hole.

College didn't make it all that easy to avoid either. The cafeteria always had junk food and my dorm had so many different vending machines to choose from. And considering I was a poor college student paying my own way through school, it wasn't like I had heaps of money to spend on groceries to survive on either. It was just easier to buy the cheap and fattening processed foods which were easy to make and lasted what seemed like centuries in a cabinet.

It was in college that I reconnected with Arnold who was going to the same school as I only for psychology. As I gained and gained weight, Arnold and I became closer and closer all while my food intake grew and grew. Soon I looked at the familiar girl in the mirror who weighed even more than she had when I'd first taken up the dangerous lifestyle that called itself to me all those years ago from the doctor's scale.

Sure, I wasn't dangerously overweight especially when it came to my height-to-weight ratio. Honestly, when I thought about it, I probably looked just fine. It was just that after years of making food the enemy, my eyes had grown to betray me as well and morphed the image of myself into an utter monster- somebody who wasn't even worth the space she took up on the earth itself.

Hard as it was, I still tried to hide all of my feelings of worthlessness from Arnold. After all, he was in school for psychology and the last thing I needed was my boyfriend to dig into my psyche and tell me all about the problem I knew I had. I wanted a partner, not a psychologist and certainly not a student's test subject on mental health.

In hindsight, I probably should have let him inside my thought process. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't have completely fallen apart the way that I did.

A year from graduating college, the stress of life and the hatred I felt toward myself became too much to handle. That's right, your girl Helga G. Pataki attempted to take her own life in a hope that I'd at last silence the eating disorder voice and blind the lying eyes which only saw an ugly fat cow in any surface that reflected my image.

Not only was the attempt on my life some pathetic, last-ditch effort to make all I'd become cease to exist, but it was the direct result of my writer's block. Despite having the urge to write for my own entertainment, I simply had no motivation or ideas to pursue. I guess it was only a matter of time before I imploded and did something drastic.

As I'm sure anyone could guess though, all the attempt did was make my life vastly more complicated. Poor Arnold practically worried himself sick while I 'recovered' in a local mental hospital on a floor that specialized in eating disorders. I spent nearly a month in there working on myself and using psychotherapy to try and pinpoint the exact reasons I'd wound up in a white gown wandering around a blindingly white environment. In addition to the therapy, I was prescribed nearly ten different medications to help control my depression and anxiety that had seemingly taken over my life.

It was in the hospital however, that I had to make a big decision- all of the absences from school had taken quite the toll on my grades and as much as I didn't want to, I knew I had to drop out. As the memories of my passed few years flitted by in my mind like a movie while I stood naked and dripping in front of the bathroom mirror, I recalled what led up to decision in agonizing detail.

Arnold sat across from me in the visiting room that was just as white as the rest of the building. While it felt like prison, I knew in my mind that it wasn't for the sheer fact that Arnold reached out for my hands and nobody hollered at us from the wings for touching.

His green eyes, which sparkled in the florescent lighting, looked at me in a melancholy fashion before he began to speak. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged my shoulders while averting his intense gaze to instead focus on the white linoleum underneath us. "I'm alive," I responded which probably wasn't the best answer I could have given.

With a small squeeze of my hands, Arnold replied in an encouraging tone, "And I'm so thankful that you are, Helga. You-you have no idea."

"Yeah," I agreed in a soft voice, "I probably don't."

A moment of silence settled between us before Arnold chose to speak again. "Things have been pretty lonely at home without you," he decided to say and I glanced up at him briefly before choosing to move my stare to the surface of the table we sat at. "I've taken up re-watching Mad Men again."

I smirked at his statement. "Seriously? That's like... the fourth time you've watched that series."

Arnold merely chuckled and nodded his head sheepishly. "Yeah... I know."

"Like, you might have an actual problem, football-head," I teased and he simply continued to nod his head in agreement.

"It's comforting I guess," he told me in a wry tone. "I guess it reminds me of you since you're the one who got me into it in the first place."

My smile drooped slightly at the realization of why he always went back to that series- he was watching it because he missed me. Back when we first started dating and had countless arguments that caused me to walk out of whoever's apartment we were at, Mad Men had become his coping mechanism. By the time I'd returned or our argument was resolved, we simply finished the series together once more only to inevitably repeat the same series of events a few months later.

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I offered a one-worded reply. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Arnold was quick to ask.

"Because," I muttered, "the reason you're lonely and watching Donald Draper destroy various lives around him at an alarming rate, once again might I add, is all my fault. I should have... I could have..."

My voice trailed off but Arnold didn't give me a chance to finish my sentence. "Helga, this isn't your fault- you have to know that. Between your family and-"

I cut him off with a harsh and defensive tone, "This has nothing to do with my family."

He held up a lone hand to either silence or calm me down, though I wasn't entirely sure of his motives. "Regardless," he continued, "you've faced a lot of adversity in your life. Even you can't deny that."

"Okay, fine," I surrendered, "so my sister is a goody-two-shoes Miss Perfect, my mom is an alcoholic and my dad is a blow-hard with a serious anger problem who ceases to acknowledge my existence. What of it? I've dealt with all of that just fine practically all of my life."

"Just because you've dealt with all of that 'just fine' for a good chunk of your life doesn't mean that it hasn't affected you in the long run." I scoffed at his words but he either ignored my expression or didn't notice as he went on talking despite my obvious disagreement. "Maybe all of those circumstances are part of what caused this to happen to the extent that it did."

I shook my head while fixating on the space between the folding pieces of the cafeteria table we sat at. "I highly doubt it, Arnoldo."

He let go of my hands and my eyes fluttered upward at him as he leaned away from me and crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay. Then why do you think all of this happened?"

His voice was challenging me to push back and I was happy to oblige. "Oh, I don't know Hair Boy. Maybe it's because I just hate myself? Ever think of that?"

Arnold remained unchanged as he sat across from me. "Why would you hate yourself? You're incredibly talented and strong and independent and beautiful-"

"Shut up," I snapped which made his eyes change slightly though I couldn't quite pinprick the emotion behind the look he gave me. "Just shut up, okay? I'm not beautiful, you don't have to lie to me."

"What makes you think that I'm lying, Helga?" His voice was calm and collected. It was almost as though he had expected the conversation to head in this direction and was merely sitting along for the ride of where he seemed to know it was inevitably going to end.

"Because... well, because..." I stumbled through an answer but ultimately gave up on trying to find one and settled on a different approach. "Because you just are, Arnold. I know you are."

He didn't seem to have a counter-argument to my rationalizing which for a brief moment made me feel like I'd won the argument. It wasn't but a few seconds though before he questioned me once again regarding my disbelief in his previous statement. "Alright, well, if you sincerely think I'm lying, then give me some examples of why you think that."

It was my turn to lean back and cross my arms with a knowing expression taking over my face. "No, no, no. NO. You are not going to psychoanalyze me. Not today, not ever, you got that? It is a deep, dark hole inside my mind and you will not survive the trip."

Arnold sighed in defeat and set his hands on the tabletop to fold his fingers between one another as if he were holding his own hand for support. "Fine, Helga. I wasn't trying to psychoanalyze you, though. I just thought that maybe it was worth delving in to- your always thinking I'm lying about what I see both inside and outside of you."

"Yeah, well, you're not my psychologist, bucko. I have people here that I can talk to about my feelings towards myself, my fears and all that other junk." A smile twitched at my lip as I thought up my next sentence. "And besides, they get paid to listen to me."

He rolled his eyes in mild irritation. "I don't need to get paid to listen to you. I wouldn't even want to because I genuinely care about you and I'm invested in your life because, I don't know, I'm your boyfriend."

It was a rare occasion when Arnold got sassy with me and I could tell I'd pushed some kind of button to make him act this way. He pushed himself up from the table while shaking his head, "You know, Helga, I came here to visit you and see how you were doing. But since you're clearly okay and have no real interest in talking to me about your honest-to-god feelings like usual, I think I'll just head out."

Reaching out quickly to grab his wrist and stop him from leaving feeling like he was the worthless one and powerless to help me, I changed my tune. "No wait, Arnold, I-I'm sorry," I apologized. "Please stay..."

Arnold eyed me for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not I was being sincere, and after a few seconds, he sat back down.

As he watched me with expectant eyes, I took a deep breath and began to talk to him earnestly. "I've been working with the psychologists here to figure out where I went wrong with this eating disorder and body dysmorphia."

"And?" He encouraged in a hopeful voice but I simply shrugged my shoulders while looking down at my fingernails as I picked at them anxiously.

"There's a lot of reasons probably," I answered before chewing on my lip briefly and then continuing. "Sure, my family has a lot to do with it I guess, but personally I think it's more because I just want to control something in my life for whatever reason." My eyes drifted up at Arnold's kind face and I frowned, "It's probably because I can't control everything and everyone around me."

With a slight nod of his head, Arnold cleared his throat and then responded to what I'd said. "I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. Look at how you've acted almost all of our lives- the bullying and all that, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, sheesh," I snapped back at him before gauging his disappointed eyes at my tone to which I merely sighed and apologized once more. "Right, attitude. Sorry."

Not giving a verbal acceptance of my apology, Arnold seemed to take it anyway and continued with our conversation. "So what do the psychologists suggest you do when you get out of here? I mean, you shouldn't be in here too much longer, right?"

I pressed my lips in a hard line and nodded my head before giving an answer. "They think it should only be another week or so. As for when I get out, they're recommending me to a behavioral therapist who will enroll me in a DBT program."

Thankfully for me, Arnold was in psychology so I didn't need to explain Dialectical Behavioral Therapy to him or tell him all of the skills I'd already been working on while in this joint. "DBT might be good for you," Arnold said with a hopeful smile. "It'll probably help with your need to control things around you and I've read that it's really helpful when it comes to eating disorders."

I cringed at the sound of the two words I had constantly tried to pretend didn't pertain to me over the years: eating disorder. While I knew that I had one, or maybe a couple seeing as I'd been on both ends of the spectrum when it came to weight, it was a hard thing to accept hearing the words in correlation with me.

"Helga?" Arnold called out to me and I shook my head as if to refocus my attention to our conversation.

"Hmm?" I hummed in confusion as I'd apparently missed his last statement.

"I asked how long the DBT class they're enrolling you in would last and how often you'd meet with the group and your individual therapist," he repeated and I answered back almost robotically.

"Group is once a week for two hours and individual is at the least one session a week."

Arnold nodded his head though his brow had furrowed like he was trying to answer some hidden question that had posed itself inside his head. I watched him curiously before deciding to try and get inside his mind. "What? What are you thinking?"

He looked back at me with sadness in his eyes. "How are you going to do all that, work and do school? You're towards the end of your last year and finals will be coming up soon."

I waved him off as though everything he'd suggested was already water under the bridge. "No sweat, I'll be just fine."

By the look in his eyes though, it was apparent that Arnold didn't believe me. "Helga. You need to focus on yourself and get better right now."

With a frown and mild agitation, I countered him. "And what? You think I'm not doing that or will continue to do it once I'm out of here? Huh?"

Arnold sighed again but shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying at all, Helga. I'm merely saying that all of those things in combination with each other might stress you out too much and trigger your disordered eating or even worse...another attempt on your life should it be harder than you anticipated."

Raising a brow, I pressed him for more information. "What exactly are you suggesting, smart guy? I just quit my job or-or drop out of school? That's insane."

Expecting him to suggest something else and dismiss my assumption at what he was trying to say, I waited for a minute or so. Yet, at his lack of response to what I'd said, my eyes widened when I put two and two together. "Wait- you're not serious, right? We need my job to pay our rent and I can't just drop out of school- I've put so much of my own damn money into that fucking place!"

"I have some money saved up from my job, Helga," Arnold calmly explained and I watched him, my face completely dumbfounded as he continued to talk. "I can pay our rent for a while until you get back on your feet. And just because you 'drop out' of school, your credits won't disappear, you know. You can always go back once you're in a better place with your mental health."

"Arnold- I can't even believe you right now! I'm so close to graduating, why would you tell me to drop out now?!" I was near hysterics at his suggestion but he reached out to take my hand and hold it tightly.

"You really need to focus on your mental health, Helga, or this is never going to get better for you."

Huffing out a breath in reluctance at Arnold's advice and his knowledgeable logic thanks to his college psychology courses, something in me still wanted to fight back against what he thought I should do. "So let's say I do quit my job and drop out of school... what if it doesn't help? What if- what if it only gets worse?"

Arnold looked down at my hand which he was still holding between his. He watched our hands for a moment, his thumb stroking the skin on the back of my hand. After a beat, he looked back up at me and delivered his final counter-point. "And what if it gets better?"

I watched as condensation began to slide it's way down the glass of the mirror ahead of me and I swallowed hard.

Better, I repeated the word back to myself silently, what even is better, exactly?

I'd been away from school and work for nearly a year and a half now and I didn't necessarily feel 'better' by any means. Once I finally left the hospital, the first place Arnold took me to was school so I could talk to an adviser about postponing my education for the time being. It was a hard conversation, but ultimately it did make sense for me to focus on myself for a while and maybe even get back to writing for the sake of me, not just an assignment.

Quitting my job on the other hand was a totally different story and it took a bit more convincing from Arnold to go through with it. I just didn't want him to have to support me. I mean, it was the 21st century for cripes sake and I wanted to be able to support myself without his help. Well, without his help or with very minimal help at the most. In the end however, I left my job and began to do what was necessary to try and 'fix' myself.

Yet I was discovering that as time went on, there was really no such thing as 'fixing' oneself. All I could do was change and evolve and hope to god I wouldn't fall downhill again.

As I stared in the mirror though, the reflection staring back at me through the fog my boiling-hot shower had produced reminded me that falling downhill was a slippery slope. Not only was it easy to slip back into bad habits, but I had slowly been giving in to my old unhealthy behaviors once more.

The worst part though? The worst part was that I knew Arnold could tell and yet I felt powerless to stop it as my eating disorder once again threatened to take over my life and spiral out of control.

In the beginning of what I thought was the end of my treatment, I truly believed that I was 'cured' and that DBT had saved my skin by being the miracle I'd been looking for. In fact, over time I could see the difference in me thanks to DBT and my psychologist. At long last, I was able to maintain my weight and even be okay with what looked back at me from the mirror.

But you see, eating disorders never really go away. No, like a seasoned predator, they merely lie in waiting. As if they were volcanoes, eating disorders stay completely dormant with the exception of the occasional comment that, at first, feel easy to push away. I remember that I felt strong and empowered towards the beginning because I was able to fight the triggering thoughts and avoid relapse.

That's how they get you, though- the eating disorders. They wait until you feel safe and in control before they strike again.

Soon, I was weighing myself not just once a week, but a couple times a week to make sure that I was 'staying on track,.' That was the popular lie that I would tell myself. Not longer after that it was upped to three, four times a week. Soon enough, I was right back to weighing myself every single day and spending every single night sobbing into Arnold's comforting arms at even the smallest fluctuation of my weight.

Naturally, knowing my signs and symptoms, Arnold ended up deciding to hide the scale from me. While it was a great idea and all, it didn't keep the compulsions at bay. Each morning I would wake up and search for hours to find that damn scale. When I inevitably couldn't find it, I'd simply choose not to eat until Arnold was home again. He'd watch in sadness as I would then binge on food because I was hungry from starving myself all day. He knew I had a problem, hell, I knew I had a problem and yet I felt powerless to stop it and unable to use Arnold's words of encouragement to fight back.

While I spent countless hours a day deciding whether to eat or not, my eating disorder ate me alive from the inside out. As I looked in the mirror at the broken woman I'd become, I tried to once again argue against the voice suggesting things inside my mind.

Turning from the mirror, I reached for the hook that held my towel for me and I quickly pulled it around my body so it could soak up the droplets of water still clinging to my naked form. Pull the towel tight, the voice whispered to me, do you think you'll be able to pull it around you more than you could two days ago?

Following the orders of the invisible demon on my shoulder, I slowly tightened the fabric around my body to see if I had more excess towel than before. I held eye contact with myself in the mirror as I yanked it tighter and tighter around myself in hopes that I would feel a difference. My mind wanted something I could measure and without the scale, the towel was one of the only things I had left.

Stop it! my usually quiet second voice scolded. You're better than this! You don't need to do this to yourself... I knew the second voice was right. I knew that it was the second voice who wanted me to be the best I could be and was trying to be louder than the shouts of it's counter-part.

Maintaining eye contact with the familiar face that stared back at me, I listened as my mind began to argue with itself. It was as though the angel and devil themselves were on each of my shoulders while I stood back and watched without the confidence to voice my own opinion.

Who are you kidding, Helga? You aren't better than this. You need me. I'm here to help you be the person you need to be.

The person you need to be is the authentic and real you, the quieter voice spoke up. For the first time in a long while, it sounded determined to win this fight with the voice that typically dominated my thoughts.

If you show the authentic and real you, Arnold will leave, the other voice said as if to manipulate my emotions so I would do what it wanted. Think about it, Helga. He only wanted you after I showed up... without my help, he'll abandon you.

This time, the second voice spoke louder and more confidently. I tilted my head to look at my entire body in the mirror that hung on the back of our bathroom door. Arnold loves you. He loves all of you and has stuck around through everything. He understands you-

He wants to use you, the first voice snarled. All he wants is to practice his psychology skills on you and when you become too healthy, he'll get bored and leave.

"No," I whispered to myself in the mirror as the second voice stood by my side to continue lifting me up so I could fight back against the insults of the first voice.

If you continue to get worse he might leave, you know. This sudden realization hit me courtesy of my usually kinder and more understanding voice. While angry at the thought, I knew it was true. If Arnold was going to be a psychologist, he wouldn't want to work all day only to come home and continue working. He deserved to be happy at home with a healthy partner who didn't need him to be their own personal live-in shrink.

Arnold deserves to be happy and you won't be able to be healthy long enough to give that to him. The first voice changed tactics and was growing confident once more. I knew it was attempting to shut down any sort of happiness within me, and to do so, it delivered what it considered to be the final blow. Just look at yourself- look at what you are. What do you see?

The words of my last thought hung in my brain and repeated themselves over and over as I continued to stare into the foggy mirror.

What do you see?

What do you see?

Helga, what do you see?

I knew my eating disorder voice wanted me to tear myself apart. I had become accustomed to it's routine of making me rip myself to shreds but this time I wanted to give myself a chance to make my own opinions.

So starting at my feet, I focused on each part of my body individually to try and form that opinion.

First, I took notice of the black nail polish I'd painted on my toenails weeks ago. I'd been with Phoebe and we stayed up all night laughing, talking and reminiscing over the good old days. Before going to sleep, we painted our nails and though I was only able to spend a day with her where she now lived miles and miles away, it was a memory I was thankful for. It had been a night that was much needed as it had broken up the rut I often found myself in. While recent, it was an important night because that entire time that I was there, my eating disorder didn't speak up once.

Moving upward, my eyes grazed over my thighs which were parts of my body that I typically focused on. They looked thinner than usual, but overall they looked fine to me. Not too thin, not too large- they just looked like any other pair of legs. Honestly I should be thankful, I found myself thinking. Some people don't have legs that are functional like I do.

My eyes scanned up further; passed my torso which was thankfully covered by my pink towel and finally settled on the tattoos which painted my upper arms in a myriad of different colors. Each color was etched onto my skin and as I focused on the pictures I'd had painted onto my body, a small smile crept onto my face. Each of my tattoos represented who I was and while I'd put them on myself in impulse fueled frenzies, they were beautiful and made my arms- body parts I also tended to focus on –parts of me that I now proudly showed off.

Following the trend, my eyes continued all the way to my collar bones which had also been problem areas for me. I could remember countless nights of insomniatic episodes where I stared into the mirror for hours at a time tracing the bones I wanted so badly to be prominent and stick out like the rolling hills of the mountain that was my body. Today however, I glanced at them without an extra care in the world, my eyes choosing to finally settle on the sad face I knew to be mine.

Though the mirror was covered in mist, I knew that dark bags still hung under my eyes like suitcases full of souvenirs from long nights passed. The hoop that hung from the middle of my nose reflected light from the bathroom fixtures and hit the mirror in a sort of sparkle. Downward my eyes continued and I focused in on the chapped lips that hung in an eternal upside-down grin from years of pessimism mixed with cynicism. It was the moment my eyes met the blue irises of the girl trapped in the mirror, however, that my mind went blank.

Blurred though they were, I stared into those eyes that looked out at me. Behind them lay so much hurt that I regularly hid. They stared back at me in a dull, lifeless regard as though the weight of the world had destroyed the spirit within them. While I knew someone was still behind them, that someone being me, I also knew that she was beaten down and hidden somewhere so deep it seemed impossible to dig her out. The world could be so unkind and as we stared at each other through the mirror, a soft voice spoke up once again from the back of my mind.

You see? You aren't so bad. You're bent, not broken and there is always hope.

I took in the thought as it crossed my mind and chewed my lip while going over all I'd come to realize from my half-hour in the bathroom. It was empowering to know I still had some kind of hope and positivity within me, I just hoped it could find a way- that I could find a way –to make it thrive and grow.

Reaching up with a pointed finger, I began to write out various letters in the fog that masked the details of my face. With each letter I traced, a clearer picture of the girl I knew as myself was revealed and once I was finished, I dropped my arm down to my side so I could look at the words I'd written over my own image.

Fuck You.

The words looked back at me rather than the reflection and as I stepped back to look at the mirror in full, I avoided my familiar blue eyes for fear that within them I'd find only disappointment. Each line of the letters I'd so carefully created in the steam acted as prison bars to the girl who was trapped in the eternal torture chamber I'd seemingly built for her.

"Fuck you," I murmured under my breath, though as the words came out I began to wonder if it was even me at all who was speaking them.

At the sound of my voice intoning what I'd written, I realized that the devil on my shoulder had triumphed over me yet again. This time however, the little voice inside of me that I knew to be not an angel or devil but my true self, whispered something back.

No, it told the devil in quiet rebellion, fuck you.

I wrote this story to deal with some stuff I've been going through lately so let's just say this is a semi-autobiographical story. If anyone out there is struggling with an eating disorder, thoughts of suicide or just need some mental health assistance, reach out to someone because i guarantee you are not alone in the struggle.

Mirror scene at the end was inspired by Bloochikin's fanart entitled, "Not Good Enough" which is an old picture that is nearly impossible to find but I wanted to give credit where it's due.

Thanks for reading if you got through all of this and please drop me a review so I know what you thought of the story. I appreciate any and all feedback greatly.

xo

Polkahotness