Disclaimer: This song is not mine, and from the Musical "Waitress".  I really do love it.  This a interpretation that pertains to me, not the actual musical itself.

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"It's not simple to say," I started, wringing my hands together sadly. Diana looked on sadly, but still confused, as if she didn't really understand. And she didn't.

She knew of some of the things. She knew the struggle of looking in the mirror and hating the person staring back. She understood that.

But what she didn't understand was the hatred of the PERSON IN THE MIRROR. Hating not only the physical shell but everything that person in the mirror had become.

"That most days I don't recognize me," I whispered, and Diana sat there quietly, listening – not saying a word. "That these shoes and this apron," I continued, breaking eye contact to gesture to my beat up black combat boots and giant hoodie, both doing their best to hide the worst part of this little, scared girl who wants more than anything else to be strong.

Long gone was the girl who wore bright t-shirts with funny quotes on them – no, now her closet was full of dark colors, doing their best to help her hide from everything she didn't want to – no, COULDN'T – face.

"That place and its patrons," I said, flicking a hand at the high school yearbook on my bed.

It had no signatures.

"Have taken more than I gave them," I continued, not able to meet Diana's eyes. But my throat was tightening, and it was getting harder to try and explain. Harder to try to explain what was going on in my head.

"It's not easy to know - I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true," I admitted. I was a brave kid once, actually. Actually, I was borderline completely reckless, but as I've gotten older, that part of me as slowly melted away. I've only found myself getting more and more scared as I've grown.

Sometimes, I wish I still was.

I turned away from her, not wanting to hurt her, but she wanted to know. "I was never attention's sweet center," I said, waving a hand at the evidence of her being my parent's favorite child. School awards that they were so proud of, things I could never seem to accomplish – and it was like they enjoyed rubbing her accomplishments in my face.

Do you know how hard it is to be happy for someone when they are hurting you?

Even if you want to be?

And Diana... well, she had no idea. She had no idea what her successes were doing to me, making my confidence falter, trying to get somewhere close to the picture of her future she was painting for herself.

And that was almost worse.

"I still remember that girl," I whispered, turning back to the mirror.

"She's imperfect, but she tries. She is good, but she lies. She is hard on herself..." My voice gave out, but I refused to stop. I was a runaway train now – stopping me now would have been impossible. "She is broken and won't ask for help."

This was harder than it should be. It was hard to find anything good about me.

Diana picked up on that, tears just beginning to form in her eyes.

"She is messy, but... she's kind. She is lonely - most of the time," I continued, swaying a little and wringing my hands, avoiding her eyes. If I looked up and she was crying it would make this that much harder.

I didn't break eye contact with the person staring back at me in the mirror. "She is all of this... mixed up, and... baked in a beautiful pie," I said, smiling a little as tears formed in my own eyes now.

"She is gone, but she used to be mine."

I started to speak but Diana cut me off, hugging me tightly. She was well on her way to understanding now, but I wasn't done yet. I wish I was. "It's not what I asked for – sometimes life - just slips in - through a back door. And... carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true. And now I've got you," I whispered, gently wiping a stray tear off her cheek.

"And you're not what I asked for."

Diana smiled a little at that.

"If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back for a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two," I admitted, sadly pulling away from her as her smile faltered again. I pointed to another picture of me – my favorite, where I was four years old, swimming. My mom had gotten me mid-laugh. "For the girl that I knew," I choked out, eyes locked on that picture of a much happier me.

"Who'll be reckless, just enough. Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up when she's bruised - and gets used by a man who can't love," I said hugging myself tighter. My first heartbreak. And it wouldn't be my last, but the next time it would be a different kind of heartbreak.

No child can ever watch their parents cry.

And no sister can watch her brother –

"And then she'll get stuck," I whispered, hugging myself tighter – to keep myself from falling apart. Stuck between whether she really can rid herself of this shell she'd been given. "And be scared of the life that's inside her, growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her to fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes. That's been gone, but used to be mine, used to be mine."

It would have been so easy to end the life inside me – leave this shell behind and lifeless. Opening the medicine cabinet. Drowning and wine and whiskey 'til I couldn't breathe. Giving up.

I didn't notice when Diana step closer, wrapping her arms around me, tears in her eyes.  "She is messy, but she's kind," she continued, smiling softly with her watery eyes.  "She is lonely most of the time.  She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful... pie," she giggled a little at the lyric.

She was quieter, hugging me a little tighter.

"She is gone, but she used to be mine."

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