The Mirror Lies

 I hate nights like this. I hate feeling like this. The kind of night where I want to cover every mirror, reflective surface and scale with dark heavy sheets and bury myself in pillows, accompanied only by a box of tissues. I feel enormous on nights like this. I can't stand to look in the mirror because I know all I'll see is every little place where a pound or two has found it's way in; every little imperfection will appear ruddier and magnified by one hundred. I feel hungry; but I can't bring myself to eat or drink.
   My hair is too short, my jaw is too weak, I'm covered in pimples, my teeth look like something you'd find on Halloween. I have zero confidence on nights like this. Every other girl I see is much prettier; maybe everyone else will think so too. I don't even know why that matters; the logical part of me knows this is depression rearing it's ugly head once again. That these thoughts are just lies.
 When my depression pays a visit, the mirror lies. My every thought turns against me; I feel the inner battle rage once more. I can feel the wave rise higher, higher, and higher still. I try to brace myself with my only weapon: logic. Truth. I try to run away, to escape the shadow cast by the inevitable bout of depression bearing down on me. But in the end, I am helpless.
 So tonight, I just want to cry. Because five pounds feels more like a ton. Because a couple breakouts mar my every feature. Because my every thought is an enemy. And I am helpless to fight it off on my own.

On nights like these, the mirror lies.

And tonight, I need... I need a friend to help pull me out from under this crushing weight of self doubt and disgust.