I stand in front of the mirror naked to look at all my imperfections, to taunt myself, to tease myself. I do this on days when I see nobody else, so I have to be the one to bring about my grief.
My legs are hairy.
My belly is round.
My rashes are sporadic.
My face is tired.
This is what a typical overworked, undernourished person looks like.
But I say only I look this way, so it stings more.
Afterwards I flip through fashion magazines to compare myself to models. Then smother my face in a pillow while I sleep.
This is who I am.