He still continued to tell me that I was pretty, but when he looked at me, he wasn't looking at my body; he was looking in my eyes. When he told me he...loved me, he wasn't telling it to his Pygmalion that he sculpted to his own desires. He was telling it to whatever it was inside my head, the essence of my mind or soul that was me.I opened my eyes and stared at the mirror, subjecting my reflection to rigorous scrutiny. Try as I might, I couldn't stare at my eyes the way Jim did. I couldn't look. It was a pretty disturbing picture. It was definitely not a drawing that Little Miss Normal would do. I cursed myself for forgetting about the plan.In fact the picture was so disturbing I wondered if I was really okay. An okay person wouldn’t draw something so extreme. Would they? Maybe my whole plan was a failure. Maybe I couldn’t make myself better by pretending. My dreams of a Little Miss Normal book started to crumble.No wait! I mustn’t give up that easily. I forgot to follow the plan,. More

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