She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes searched for any changes. Her feet were not swollen. Her ankles were as dainty as before. Her calves long and lean as a ballerina’s. Her thighs are shapely and without any cellulite. She turned sideways to see the profile of her abdomen. Flat as a board. She splayed her fingers on her stomach, caressing it like a lover. She slowly cupped her breasts and tenderly pressed them to see if they were fuller or any bigger. Nothing. Nothing has changed. Her hands traveled to her neck. It was her most hated feature. She has a short neck. She always dreamed of having one of those swan-like necks but it was not meant to be. This is the reason why she keeps her hair short, just below her ears, to give an illusion that she has a swan-like neck. That was all it was, an illusion. She gave them an illusion to be with, to live with, to laugh and cry with.

She went to the bathroom, barefoot, carefully avoiding the shattered pieces of the mirror she broke. Though her were bleeding, she doesn’t feel the pain nor the soreness. She picked up the small strip of plastic that indicated a line, then another and another. She threw them all in the pink wastebasket underneath the lavatory. She turned on the shower and stepped into it, hoping that the water will rinse away the truth.

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