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The Mirror

The girl

I see her staring at me from the mirror: contemplating insignificance, contemplating disaster.  Who have I become? I stare at the girl whose innocence is lost. I want to hold her, comfort her, and tell her that things will be okay. The scars of my past, reflected in my eyes, hauntingly leering at me from my reflection. The only one, who knows me, is me. The only one, who can comfort me, is staring at me through the mirror judging me, judging my actions.

I see tears rolling down my face, before I feel them. I am so used to them now that they are almost a part of me. What have I become. I look down at the reflection on my wrists. Scars, that deface my once smooth flawless skin. Did I hate myself that much that I absolutely had to draw my own blood? Healed lines, bumps, I feel them with my other hand. Looking up, I see her, taunting me. “What have you become, you silly girl?” my eyes ask me. What have I become? Meaningless, defective, useless.

What broke me? What finally brought me to the brink of an almost overflowing cup? What pushed me to the edge of infinity that made my eyes, so shallow and full of nothingness? I move my hand toward the mirror, to touch the face of the girl I see before me. I do not recognise her, but I can tell that she was once beautiful, happy, and confident. The glass stops me from getting to her face. The girl in the mirror cries, and sobs, and I can hear the sounds come from inside me. I need her hug, I need her comfort. . She needs my hug, she needs my comfort.  She.... I am the only one who knows me.

I scream, banging my hands against the mirror: I need to comfort her. The force breaks the glass and as it does, a part of me feels alone. I look up to see a mangled face, I have destroyed myself.




The Reflection

I see her staring at me from the mirror: contemplating insignificance, contemplating disaster.  I stare at that innocent girl, with tears in her eyes. Why won’t she look away? Her eyes look so lost, I want to hold her, comfort her, and tell her that things will be okay. That scars of any past, would be just memories of a future. But those eyes, which always held laughter when I saw them, looked dead, hauntingly lifeless. The only one, who knows her, is me. The only one, who can comfort her, is staring at her through the glass begrudgingly, unable to hold her or pamper her.

I start to cry as I realise her pain and she looks at me as she feels the tears. I have never seen so much of it flow from her eyes at once. Why can’t I stop the tears? I look down at her wrists. How flawless and translucent her skin had been, I had seen the blood, and I had seen the tears. I had seen so much, I knew so much. Did she hate herself to this extent that she absolutely had to draw her own blood? Looking up, I see her, taunting me. “I could do so much worse to myslef” her eyes tell me. She had been beautiful. Independent, confident, powerful.

What broke her? I remember that day; she had stood before me and had cried. “Help me. I need help.” I had watched helplessly as she took the blade to her wrist, I had fallen down at the sight, clutching my own wrist, screaming noiselessly. Now, I move my hand toward the mirror, to touch the face of the girl I see before me. I do not recognise her, but I know that she had once been beautiful, happy, and positive. The glass stops me from getting to her face. The girl before me cries, and sobs, and I can do nothing from over here. I need her hug, I need her comfort. . She needs my hug, she needs my comfort.  She.... I am the only one who knows me.

Noiselessly I scream, banging my hands against the mirror: I need to comfort her. The force breaks the glass and as it does, I feel myself begin disappear. I look up to see a kaleidoscopic mix. I am no longer me, but a mangled image of self loathing. She has destroyed herself.


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