I hate what I see.
Before me stands an overly skinny man with a crooked jaw, and beneath that facade lurks a disturbing personality with malevolent thoughts. His eyes are full of anger as he looks at me, and then I realize I’m actually looking at myself in the mirror.
The self-hatred I carry feels like a seed, planted in my mind, with its roots growing daily, gradually reaching my heart.
“Nobody cares about you,” the woman’s voice echoes in my ears, the same haunting voice from weeks ago in the school restroom. It’s as if the mirror has transformed into a sinister oracle, projecting a hallucination where her words pierce through, emphasizing, “No one will accept you for who you truly are.”
I don’t even know who I truly am.
“Here’s the harsh truth. You’re a deeply troubled kid who h
