I picture in myself in my head: short, fat, skin the color of dirty paper, hair in tight curls. Then I turn this girl into the prettiest version of myself: tall and thin, curvy in the right places, skin the color of a walnut shell, and my hair lengthy and wavy. She puts a hand on my shoulder. "You'll be glad I'm here, bitch.” I can almost feel her there. (this is a short story following a depressed girl and her sorry. TW: mention of suicide, self harm, ED, and depression. Not for those who are triggered easily. Please be safe and get help.)