She takes a look into the mirror. The eyes she sees are not recognizable by any means. The body, frail and weak, limps over the ground so hard on her feet. She can not stand tall for she is too down to look up. She never shall walk with her head high. The world has snuck ideas inside of her mind. Ideas that remain there, unnoticed, untouched, but wanted. She doesn't understand the feelings. She just knows that they are there. The world is so hypocritical. They tell her that she is not good enough, but when will she learn that the world is not the one to place judgment? They tell her to get better, that this illness is one of disgust, yet they force her to the room in which her head spins. Although her mind is her own, the world has told her that the inner workings of her mind are wrong. Leaving her with no chance for a future. More importantly no hope for a future. And without hope there be no chance at survival.
