I never did things like wear makeup or buy pretty new clothes. I lived out of a duffel bag, uncaring of how it looked. In short, I survived. Since being back, it’s been different. I put in the effort—not because I care about looking pretty, but because looking pretty is now a part of that survival. The shiny hair. The makeup. The clothes. These are tools. When I first came here, the sight would meet in the mornings like an alarming surprise each time I looked in the mirror, this new awareness that I’m playing a part. But at some point, that awareness wore off. Now when I look at my reflection,
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