What if your mirror talked to you?
“Are you seriously wearing that tonight? You know he won’t look at you twice in a top like that. Granted, he probably won’t look at you at all no matter what you wear.”
“SHUT UP! This is going to be fine. I look okay, right? Like, this isn’t the worst. I’m prettier than some girls.”
“Ha,” her face flickered with a malicious grin as she chortled at my hopelessness, “Seriously, there’s no way you think he could ever actually like you?”
With a defeated sigh I tossed a blanket over my mirror and grabbed my phone. Hey Charles, I’m not feeling very well tonight and I don’t think I can do dinner. I sent off the text as I grabbed for my hoodie that was scrunched up on the floor. The tears were so very close to breaking as I retreated into the fetal position in the center of my bed. Every time I worked up the courage to go out and do something, she was always there to remind me of who I really was ad what people really saw in me. Tonight wasn’t the first time that her hateful words had torn down any and every confidence within me. The tears flowed freely as I felt the weight of my loneliness crush me deeper and deeper in my mattress. With stifled sobs I pulled myself free of my blanket and took a few cautious steps towards the hidden mirror. Trembling fingers removed the blanket that was my safety from the words and glares that could cut me deeper than anything else. I stared intently into the reflective glass only to be met by those depreciating eyes that I knew so well.
“This is who you are.” Her voice resonated inside of me as I looked at every flaw before me. “You are pathetic. You are sad. You are alone.”
“I’m not.” I tried to argue, but felt too subdued to fight her words. And what was the point? I was sad. You could tell by the mascara running down my cheeks and the blotchy skin – the evidence of my tears, my weakness.
“No one will ever choose you. Look at you. You’re a mess. You’re more effort than your worth.”
“No,” I stuttered, but every ounce of courage was gone. The tears returned and my body began to rack with sobbing. I felt empty and angry and hopeless and scared. The sobs became screams as I stared that atrocious bitch in the face.
“NO.” The anger resonated in my voice. “I am not those things. This isn’t me. This is who you made me. I will not listen. Not to you. I WILL NOT LISTEN.” With my final scream my fist made contact with that fragile pane and glass rained down in shattered shards.
I sat there amidst the broken glass as my anger and sorrow simmered within me. With a terrifying realization I found that I could still hear her voice resonating in my brain.
“Now look what you did.” The words were more spat than spoken and I fell deeper into my sadness. For the voice in my mirror and in my mind wasn’t that of a stranger or a foe, but it was mine.