Dear Rachel,

It's been a long time since I've written to you candidly. I want to ask how you're doing. However, I think you would agree that I already know the answer to that.

Over the years, you told your classmates that you were fine. The more you told them, the more they believed you. It was so convincing that even I started to believe it. As a matter of fact, it was so convincing that you didn't think you were lying.

But you were never 'fine', we're you?

If what you meant by 'fine' was lonely and depressed, then you were telling the truth. But you swore not to tell the truth about yourself.

You swore not to show the chains that entrapped your body.
You swore that no one would ever find out about the mask you plastered on your face everyday.

And you swore that you could finally be happy.

You were wrong about everything, my dear.

Did their toxic opinions have to seep into your self-image? Why did you believe them, thinking that you were not good enough? You looked perfectly fine before. Their perception of 'beautiful ' didn't have to effect you. Every time you decided to erase the breakfast, lunch and dinner in your stomach, you knew it wasn't what you wanted.

Because it was what THEY wanted.

The last time I saw you, the jade green eyes of yours had dark bags drooping under them, cheeks sunken. It was like you longed to escape the body you were born with. As I stared at you handling your precious mask, those golden threads embroidered everything that resembled perfection.

Finally you were satisfied with it. They would like your new mask, you thought.

But of course they didn't. It wasn't because they didn't like it, it was because they didn't like you. And you weren't their friend.

I don't have to tell you what to do now. If I know what's right, you know too.

They don't have to matter, Rachel. You just have to leave.
Say goodbye to them.
Say goodbye to me.

Yours sincerely,
The mirror.