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July 20, 2010
Sometimes I look at a wall, and I imagine bashing my head into it.  I've tried occasionally, but at that moment just before delicate skin meets solid brick, I pull back. Self-preservation? Or cowardice?

There are days when I look in the mirror, and the person I see isn't me. She's pretty enough. Nice eyes. Not sad, exactly, not frightened or angry or bitter or anything so negative, but certainly not happy. There seems to be something missing from the mirror girl. A spark of life has been lost.

 It isn't his fault I can't see myself.