ebturner

I look in the mirror at a woman with bags under her eyes, an emotionless face. “This is not who I am,” I say. I see a woman so torn and blinded by the results of an election that she forces her roommate out of her life. “This is not who I am,” I say. I see a woman crying, again and again, not quite knowing why. “This is not me,” I say. I see a woman writing, reading her Bible, praying, doing all the “right things” and yet something still feels wrong. “This is not me,” I say. “Or at least, it’s not the me that everyone sees. It’s not the me that I want to be.&