The Looking Glass

She knew that today was going to be one of those bad days.

Felt it in the ache of her bones,

And the pounding of her skull.

It was going to be one of those days,

Where she just wanted to stay in bed,

Or find the nearest sharp object.

Raking it across her skin until she felt something other than numb.

It was one of the days where she'd stay in her room,

Ignoring the pounding at her door until it inevitably went away.

It was the day where she checked her bathroom cabinets for anything to take,

Filling her stomach with handful after handful of bright pills,

Until the ache soothed and her brain went fuzzy.

All the while,

Avoiding catching her own gaze in the mirror for fear of what she might see.

She did it once.

Only once.

Her eyes locking onto the stranger in the cool glass.

Their dull gaze assessing her worth and ultimately finding her lacking.

She recognized the look, knew the feeling.

Felt herself the utter self-loathing that drowned in waves,

Leaving her floundering under the immense pressure.

She saw it on days like this,

When she caught glimpses of that stranger peeking through the reflective glass,

Dead eyes moving robotically over her

And taking note of her insecurities, her endless doubts.

She sometimes wondered why no one else could see this empty shell.

Why when other people looked into the mirror,

They claimed it reflected back something familiar.

Maybe it's just her that's being haunted by this phantom.

This creature of darkness, of weakness and vulnerability.

That would explain why she could never see herself in the mirror.

Only that tired shape.

Only those lifeless eyes.