Mirrors

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been deathly afraid of mirrors..

I was always a tubby little thing as a toddler and I was fascinated by my rolls. You know.. that kind of fascination people have with grotesque things... The same reason people pick at scabs and squeeze blemishes. I would pull on my tights, leotard, and tutu, check out my fat baby-bum, and spend hours in front of the mirror squatting, stretching, pulling, throwing my fat-baby self through the air, all the while trying my darnedest to not make a sound when all my weight crashthudded down to earth.

By the time I was 5 I had been introduced to the phantom of the opera, great music, creepy-ass show...

The dude comes out of the mirror and takes our heroine into a realm of darkness and perfection

Suddenly, it was as if I had a new explanation as to why mirrors made me sad.

Ever since then, I knew I was different.
The phantom was my sickness
Perfection would be weightlessness.

Every time I was in the dark I would make a point to never walk in front of a mirror. I just knew it would suck me in.

These are the fucked up things I've always lived with.

I was always keenly aware of exactly who was looking back at me when I stared into my own cold eyes. I just always had this feeling that I would blink too hard, stare too long, and the face looking back at me would be some other person's face.

If I didn't show the mirrorphantom a perfect me, she would ooze out, pull me in, and whisk me away into darkness. Her sole purpose, my perfection.

I don't know if any of this makes sense but I've never told anyone..

Maybe she finally got me....

Maybe that's my problem...

I bet she came in the night and crawled into my body without my knowing...

That makes more sense


Oh ps... That's a legit picture of me on my first birthday...
Then I turned into my profile picture... Wtf??? Definitely the mirrorphantom's fault