My favorite place to cry is in front of the mirror right after I’ve washed my face. Just like in the movies. You’re swollen and red and gross, standing in front of the medicine cabinet that has witnessed you open and close its doors in order to numb, heal, or hurt yourself. It’s watched you transform from morning troll to evening vixen. It knows more sides of you than probably your best friend or closest partner, and it only shares the truth.