She looks in the mirror. But the person who looks back is not her. This was not a mirror. This was a window. She didn't like who she was looking at. Spending days, into weeks, into months, even into years, selling herself to such extravagant proportions. Two more steps and she will not stand for it. She looks at this distorted reflection. She can see the pain behind those black-rimmed glasses; the tears welling up in those intense brown eyes. All this time spent on a relationship she thought would work but it kept backfiring. Everytime like a slap to the face. Everyday, the continuous abuse and she takes it. The motive? In the name of love. This love drives her to the extreme that she's willing to take all this torment. Concerns arise. Not from her, but from others. Everyone cares, but not enough to speak up. Not even her. Consequences are carried. She is still stuck in this time. This is her depression. The window is open and will remain open. Her reflection: "Put on a smile girl, get out there and show them how it's done."