Warning: Triggery
You're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, except you aren't you, not at all. You're female, and you're young enough that no one believes you when you give them your ID. You're topless, and you're trying to cover the long, red scar that maps your body from shoulder to breast with your long blonde hair. Even with the scar covered, you don't feel whole, and it's like something is perpetually wrong, something is perpetually over your shoulder. You feel like you're looking at someone else's reflection, like you don't quite match anymore.
You look down, and the orange pill bottle on the counter is too bright, and it bears someone else's name, but that doesn't matter. You stare at it, just like you have every morning for weeks now.
"Today?" you ask your reflection, but it doesn't reply.
You take one pill, then another, then a third, and then a fourth. One more than yesterday. Two more than the day before.
Then you put on a shirt, and you turn off the bathroom light, and the memory goes dark.