I stare at my reflection. But not mine. I stand in front of the mirror, but it is not my face that I see. I see someone's. Someone I don't know. But I wave my hand, they wave their hand. When I blink, they blink. When I look around, they look around. They are me. But also... not me. Who am I? Who is the person behind the mirror? Who am I looking at? Me? Someone else somewhere in the world? Someone who doesn't exist? And do they now have my face? Am I them and they me? Are we living each other's lives? Why? Who did this?
The questions swim in my head like a million shards, breaking me, the mirror, slowly, slowly. I can feel it. The familiar pressure rising. The panic. The memories. But I push them down, repress them. Can't have a panic attack right now. I wonder who I am, who I'm supposed to become, with a different face. I'm not familiar anymore. Nobody knows me, nobody sees me, but they will notice a different entire person where I used to be.
I shake off those thoughts and go downstairs. Might as well get this over with. I go to the kitchen and make myself cereal. Breakfast of choice for me. But, really, why hadn't my father, who was standing right there, mentioned the new face? Maybe he didn't notice? But how could he not notice, he's standing a few feet away from me. But then again, he doesn't always pay attention to me, so that explains that. "Hey, Stepdad," I say, then turn and leave. Go to the Writing Room. Technically, it's the Dining Room, but it multiplies as a writing place. As I eat, I come to a decision. I must discover why I am not who I once was, but rather who I am now. Why am I someone I've never met? Why am I someone new, someone different, someone beyond? I return to the mirror. I am me again. But at the same time, I am not me. I am someone else. My hair is there, my face is there, my mouth, ears, nose, clothes. But it's like a fun house. They're all just slightly off.
My hair looks black, with one white streak, instead of brown, and my eyes have mascara, and black eyeliner on them, and my lips have black lipstick on them. How did my dad not notice? I mean, the hair, I wouldn't have noticed, probably. Same with the clothes, which were more edgy, and I was wearing a leather jacket instead of just a hoodie. But seriously, I've never worn makeup, and wouldn't Dad have noticed a guy wearing makeup?
I go out, to the public library in my town. I search, but they have nothing on seeing a goth version of you in the mirror. I go back to the mirror. And it speaks.
"Back again? If I didn't know better, I'd think you like me!" I just stare at him, confused. He laughs. "Oh, come on, you don't have to pretend with me. I already know that you hate yourself. I already know all of those thoughts that you pretend you don't have. I know them all. You can't hide them from me. I am you, you am I. It's that simple. We are one side of the same coin. It isn't me and you. It's just me." I turn and run, but his voice follows me, down the stairs, through the hall, out the door, Through the yard, and into town. His voice follows me.
"You think that you can escape me. FOOL! I am not just a reflection in a mirror! You can't banish me by moving! I am a part of you, the part of you that knows who you really are, what you really are, and it sickens me. You act so high and mighty, you act like you're so pure and good, but you're a virus. A poison in the world. But you're also the antidote. Just kill the virus. Remove the poison. Cure the world of your living presence in it." I shake my head, keep running. I have to get away. But he won't quit. "Oh, stop running. Stop denying the truth. You've known for years what I've always known! You need to be removed from the world. And if someone else won't do it, then I guess you'll have to. Cure the illness, stop the poison, and destroy the parasite. Do you think someone will be sad? People will be glad that you're gone. People will be happy that there's one less of you in the world. They'll be glad that you're finally gone. They'll be glad that they don't have to deal with you. They'll be glad that-"
"ENOUGH!" Someone else is here, too. Me and Goth Me aren't the only ones. I'm at this place with mirrors around the entire place. In one, I'm reflected, in another, Goth Me is. In the third, though, someone else has made an appearance. He looks... different. He's wearing a hoodie, too, but rather than my gray one, or Goth Me's black leather jacket, his is white. He's got makeup too, but it's more along the lines of golds, with gold eyeshadow, and gold lipstick and lip gloss. And he's the one who shouted. I immediately name him Gold Me. He continues speaking.
"Look at what you've done. You've worn him down and criticized him so much that he doesn't have any self-esteem left. You may claim you're just doing your job, but you're hurting us. You're hurting him. You need to back down." I look at him in awe. How did he do that? How did he get Goth Me to stop? I watch as Goth Me becomes normal me as Gold Me continues. "Listen, dude, don't listen to what he says. It's just his job. He's The Critic. He's Self-Doubt."
"And what are you?"
"Hope. Confidence. Trust. I am the part of you that knows that you have skills. Even if you don't think you do." With that, he turns into me, and I am alone with my own reflection again.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
