Emily sat down on her soft, low-to-the-ground bed and absorbed the comfort from the cushy, purple and gray patterned bed spread. Her room was laid out exactly as she had planned it; book shelve on the wall by the closet, dresser on the opposite wall with the window, the TV and stereo on the table next to her bed which was in the corner facing the mirror. And that’s what she was doing. Facing the mirror. The tall, thin, black framed mirror. She wasn’t exactly looking in it. At least not the way most people do. Instead she stared inventively at the girl on the bed. She watched, focused and confused, at the reflection staring back at her. Who was this girl? This stranger in my mirror? It can’t be me? It couldn’t possibly? But it must. It must be me. The distorted figure in the mirror. This alien in my place. The awful reflection of a tired, skinny, unhealthy girl. This girl with scars running chaotically up and down each arm, the dark circles tracing shadows underneath her eyes. This body that I’m controlling, this person that I’m seeing, she must be me. But, if this…..if she…..is me, then….what happened to me? What have I done?