Dysmorphia

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. There then gone, lingering like a faded dream on the edges of my memory. There was nothing to trust in myself. I was wrong. One step back then two. My back bumps and lands against the cold press of a door. My door? The door to my bathroom? Yes. Clarity drowned me. I was home, I was safe. Finally rescued from the worst part of my sanity.

I ran out of the room. Away from the glass that was beginning to morph once again into that thing that was like me.

but not quite.

Skin fuller, eyes tighter, folds spilling over.

In the distance someone called my name. I checked my phone. No, I was going to be late. I was always late. Always bearing the full brunt of my mothers hate. You see she’d assigned everyone in this family a different role. My brother was the pin cushion and I the punching bag. Hands bruising my skin. Words drilling holes through the soft tissue of my brain.

My feet found purpose once more as I raced towards the door and down the stairs stirring up patches of dust that floated in the air.

Punching bags couldn't afford to be late. We didn't have the privilege of making mistakes. Her fingers dug in pinching my skin as my feet thumped on the last step. She jerked me forward towards sunlight and fresh air. “Pick up the fucking pace” was all she had to say.

In the car her eyes lingered on mine.

Streets zoomed by. Her eyes narrowed in.

Tears tinged the edges of my vision.

Her gaze never faltered.

“What are you wearing”

What are you wearing?

“You look fucking ridiculous”

You look fucking ridiculous.

More nails drilled into my skull. Redundant statements filling the holes. My body never faltered. I focused on the streets zooming by. Keeping at bay the tears at the edges of my lid. One blink and the tsunami would spill over.

I caught my reflection.

No No.

Not this again.

That thing,

That bulging wound stared back at me. The reflection distorting everything. Turning, twisted, and maladjusted. The skin felt looser, the eyes grew darker. Everything widening and expanding around my frame. My skin got tighter, my clothes feeling like a prison holding my body in.

That thing pressed closer. Body pulsing forward. Splaying out all folds and skin.

Frozen in place, my heart raced. A million beats echoing into a crescendo in my ears.

HONKKKK!

Just like that it was gone. Reality crashed in. I was rushed out of the car in a whirlwind of light and noise.

The quiet hum of the car was replaced with loud whistles, screaming voices and the shuffling movement of bodies crashing against each other. The school yard buzzed with activity. I wasn’t a punching bag here. It was easy for me to disappear. Blend into the crowd as if I wasn't there. The punching bag becomes the shadow. Ever present but never acknowledged.

It was safe.

I breezed down the hall. The knot in my stomach grew tighter as I dodged the smooth glass surfaces of window reflections that lurked around me. Even in the peripherals of my vision I could see that thing coming to life. That macabre distortion of my skewered reality.

The eyes around me gouged at my person.

Could they see it too? Was it not just me? I was a shadow, never to be seen?

Yet every eye lingered momentarily on me.

Refuge found me in the back of a classroom

Snuggled in tight, my person was shrouded by shadows of light that camouflaged me in a cocoon. The teacher's voice droned on. Pulling the attention of the room.

For the first time that day

I breathed.

Breaths expelling a silent release from my lungs. Reprieve finally.

Chaos found me in the cafeteria. It was hard to be a shadow here. The blinding lights glaring stark white on everything it touched. The reflections of the windows around me closed me in. With my head down I shrunk myself. As much as I possibly could. The eyes around me understood as they glided over me to pieces and people who fit snug into their own universal vanity. Whose reflections were true instead of a twisted imagery of things that should be left unseen.

I wasn't alone. Warm tiny hands glided into mine. My brother's small hand fit in perfectly. The pin cushion and the punching bag. A temporary merging of two bruised halves. One shadow became two and we found refuge in our own bubble.

“You ok?”

“Yes”

“You sure”

“Yes”

“You should eat something” he begged

Stop

………

“Im sorry.”

My I’m sorry’s followed me in a whirlwind to the bathroom Away from him. Away from refuge. In my rush I hadn't been thinking. Above the sink the mirror stared back at me. My eyes locked in with the dark ones in front of me. That thing. This morbid version of my reality was closer now. Closer than it was this morning. Closer than the gaze of mothers eyes as they searched over my skin.

“What are you wearing”

What are you wearing?

My skin felt tight, flabby and protruding. Bigger than it was before.

“You should eat something”

You should eat something

The eyes in the mirror taunted me. Growing dark and closer they almost seemed to dare me.

“You should eat something”

You should eat

It dared move closer. Pressed up against the glass. Flabby body, all fleshy folds and skin.

My clothes were suffocating me.

“What are you wearing”

What are you wearing?

NO!

Before I knew it the glass was shattered. Adrenaline is the only thing saving me from pain. I watched the blood run red between my knuckles. Below them the shards of glass lay shattered. Scattered pieces glittering silver in the fluorescent lights. In their reflection that face leered at me. Living and breathing in each piece. A haunting puzzle daring me to put it together again.

I picked up a shard. Cold and sturdy in my hand. Rivers of red shrouded the creature in a crimson haze, but I could still see those eyes. Those haunting black eyes. I pressed the tip to the inside of my wrist. Knowing this was what could make it end. Rescuing me from the torment of words drilling holes in my brain. The hours spent staring at full plate waiting for an appetite that never came.

Waiting for the mirror to stop reflecting a reality, that only served to confirm the worst of what those drilled holes in my brain had to say.