The girl I see her staring at me from the mirror: contemplating insignificance, contemplating disaster. Who have I become? I stare at the girl whose innocence is lost. I want to hold her, comfort her, and tell her that things will be okay. The scars of my past, reflected in my eyes, hauntingly leering at me from my reflection. The only one, who knows me, is me. The only one, who can comfort me, is staring at me through the mirror judging me, judging my actions. I see tears rolling down my face, before I feel them. I am so used to them now that they are almost a part of me. What have I become. I look down at the reflection on my wrists. Scars, that deface my once smooth flawless skin. Did I hate myself that much that I absolutely had to draw my own blood? Healed lines, bumps, I feel them with my other hand. Looking up, I see her, taunting me. “What have you become, you silly girl?” my eyes ask me. What have I become? Meaningless, defective, useless. What broke me? Wha...