I in this story is an imaginary character build via observation and research.
"You know, foundation won't help you with that, right", says the girl with the most flawless skin I have ever seen. These acnes have gone out of hand. My face looks like a battlefield. A battlefield of scars, full and full. These red blotches, the pus that extracts from these tiny monsters is enough to stop me from looking into the mirror. The pain in my thighs, which has categorically intensified, demands recognition too. So do my balding head and my upset stomach. If I could transfer the hair I have on my face to my head, I'd be able to rock any hairstyle.
My body is an up and running train wreck, my mind is cloudier than a tornado-ridden sky. Do you know how long it has been since I have seen the mirror and not hated the reflection?
What did I do to deserve this?
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