(This bad boy is gonna have such a big re-re-write once it's done)
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Waking up had never felt so good that morning, on Wednesday, when I woke up with the ability to breathe properly again. My fever had completely disappeared, and whilst the effects of the sleeping pills still had me stumbling around most of the morning, I felt my health being completely back to normal. Of course, Baymax still scanned me that morning, but even he managed to rule out my fever now, which meant that I was already fully recovered. I could have jumped for joy at that moment...but of course, life absolutely revels in my misery, and threw yet another curveball at me, as I rushed to the bathroom when I felt a knife being stabbed to my abdomen.
It turns out, that the stress and lack of food over the week had put enough stress on my body to stop my period temporarily. Now that I was feeling a lot better, less stressed, and eating normally again, it started back up, and I was on my knees in the bathroom cursing my bad luck as Baymax sat outside listing some helpful advice to combat my cramps.
Eventually, once I managed to get myself together and freshen up, I gave myself a long, hard stare when I looked at myself in the mirror. My fingers moved up to ghost over the discolouration under my eyes which had lightened over the last few days. Something I ignored the severity of since it was so easy to hide my physical fatigue under makeup. My eyes weren't so bloodshot now that I had been getting full nights of sleep but were still sunken, giving the effect that I came straight out of a Tim Burton movie. My fingers moved further down from my eyes to ghost over my cheeks which had still returned to their previous fullness, no longer colourful but rather pale and ghostly instead.
I had lost a lot of unnecessary weight over the weeks.
My skin no longer glowed as it used to, and whilst I didn't look like skin and bones, whilst I understood that my face was v-shaped, I didn't look healthy anymore. My face had sunken in slightly, my lips were pale and chapped rather than their usual nourished and coloured self, and the worst was probably the little spots of stress acne I could see littered across my cheeks.
Looking into the mirror was like looking at a completely different person. I didn't look like me anymore, hell, I didn't feel like myself anymore. I was looking at a stranger in the mirror, someone who wasn't me. This wasn't the emotionally reserved teenager from the last few years, this wasn't the person who build a concrete wall around her heart. Instead, it felt like my heart was on my sleeve, ripe for the taking, the walls I had built were nothing but dust and crumbled stone. The empire I previously took pride in maintaining with my sense of self was nothing more than ruins now, something I needed to rebuild.
I didn't realise how hard I was thinking about it until I felt the burn of a tear roll down my face ever so slowly. The only indication that the person in the mirror wasn't a stranger, but in fact myself, my mirror image, reflection revealing the stray tear which had left the corner of my left eye and dropped to the collar of my pyjamas where it was soaked into the material.
