When I look into the mirror, I’m not there. I’m almost never there.
I look into the mirror and I see a person I never planned to be.

I planned to look into the mirror and see friends hovering around, dying to talk to me. I would see flashing cameras, bright lights, success.

I never thought I would look into the mirror and see a girl half dead, struggling to survive in a council flat. Never thought I would see my face – or that girl’s face – covered in purple bruises and scars from a man that she swears she loves. Never thought I’d hear a baby crying in the background at seventeen.

Seven-year-old Liza is now seventeen-year-old Jen.

Liza was happy, the most beautiful seven-year-old girl you could ever set your eyes on: eyes bright, gold hair shining in the summer sun.
Jen is different. Her black-dyed hair hangs limply by the side of her face. Her eyes have faded to a bygone grey.
Jen was passed on by life, but Liza still lives in the mirror.