I know a girl. I see her walking down a busy street. Her eyes are glossy with tears that are assembling rapidly, shielding her vision. She walks with her head down, examining the ground below her, desperately trying to disappear into the background of the chaotic world. She is so beautiful; or at least, that is what they tell her. She looks in the mirror, searching for every flaw that she is able to find, becoming increasingly dissatisfied. She turns sideways, lifting up her shirt to expose her stomach. Imperfection upon imperfection. She meets a boy. He is everything she needs. He tells her she is beautiful. Therefore, it must be true.

She finds solace through the drugs and alcohol that distort her brain. She wants to forget what she looks like. She longs to dismiss her past. At the conclusion of the evening, she stumbles her way into his arms. She cannot take care of herself. She needs him; or at least she tells herself she does. She cannot stand alone.