A/N: For all those who have their bouts of depression...

"This is all I am," she thought, looking at herself in the mirror. "Imperfect." She raised a hand and slipped a stray lock of hair behind one ear. She fingered the fine oaken strands, pensively. "Nothing," she thought, "Nothing moreā€¦" She turned and regarded her profile. "I'm so fat, why am I so fat?" She whipped back and scowled at her reflection, crisp hazel eyes marred by smeared green eyeliner. "You're so vain," she sneered "It really isn't all about you, you know." Her eyes turned murky, golden pools of salty tears, never to be shed, but quivering just on the edge, like a dam about to break. She rammed her fists into her eyes, attempting to quell the tide of self pity, anger, and disappointment. "Shut up," she said digging her fists in harder. "SHUT UP!" She slammed her hands on the bathroom counter, scrapping her fingers against the rough granite. She looked trembling back at her reflection. It seemed to mock her, pale skin twisted with pink scars and pimples, a gruesome grimace turning down the corners of her mouth and eyes glittering with frustration and self loathing. Each day she looked and each day, a little of her withered and died, consumed by the desire for self perfection.

A/N: this is overly pessimistic, but it seemed truthful at the time...