She stands with her back turned, infront of her full length mirror, terrified of what she'll see. Will there be too much fat here, too much chub there? Will her legs jiggle while she walks? Will she be please with what she sees, or will she realize that she'll never be what she truly wants to be? What she wants is to be skinny. But no matter how much weight she loses, she's never skinny enough. She turns around and has to close her eyes, what she percieves as fat is merely bones wrapped in a bag of skin. The dark circles under her eyes are concealed with a generous amount of cover up, lip gloss is applied to trembling lips. She tries not to smear her make up with the tears that flow from her eyes, tries not to let herself be broken. She tries for a smile, but doesn't get much. She looks fragile, like a porcelin doll. One touch might just break her. She reaches for her clothes, all too big. She puts on her belt, with the 6 extra belt holes carved into it. She strives to be picturesque. Her inner demons make themselves known with screaming and a fiery vengence. They never let her close enough to happiness to ever know what it fully is. As she turns from the mirror, her skeletal structure seems to creak as it moves, as if it were an old door on rusty hinges. Her heart, her mind, her sanity are all at jeaprody from her wavering will power to not give in to the demons inside her.
This girl, the one you've just been described, is more than just a person on the street. It could be you, it could be me.