This place turns the mirror into a person I don't recognize when I look at it. There used to be a smile imprinted, yet now there's just a sickly frown maybe taunted with disgust. I, more than anyone else, want to leave this caged hell. I'm a butterfly pinned down on a piece of canvas paper, an ugly duckling that changed into a swan. If an ugly duckling does good for the world and creates smiles on others' faces, will it be any worse than a beautiful swan with a heart that goes sea-deep? I always try to ignore the gossiping and whispers meant to condemn me, but it's been a year like this: it's not getting any better, I'm an object for hatred to be unleashed on. I'm human. It hurts right here, inside this little chest that possibly wouldn't be able to hold all the pain inflected on me.

No matter how terribly hard I try and try to block out what they say, I'm left with an empty shell that's tried of everything. I'm not a suicidal type, but maybe overdosing pills and drinking alcohol would be a good way to end things— and it's not like I want to die and hurry to the other world. I still want to live, probably, but to another place where I finally be me.