Or the day after that, or the day after that.
I can see myself shrinking in the mirror. It feels so good, but the scale tells a different story. Well similar I guess, but not at the same pace. I need the numbers, because the mirror always lies. It tells me that I'm okay sometimes, that I shouldn't be ashamed of myself, that who I am right now is alright, and that it's okay to stop. But only the mirror in my bedroom tells me that. It's a funhouse mirror, distorting the truth. When I go out into the real world I can see the real me, and I wish I couldn't.