Cerebral Fractures

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I saw a destitute environment wherein a pale-skinned, sickly woman wept in the somber background. Suddenly, she looked up and her eyes peered directly into mine. Her soulless gaze gave intimations of a dislocated mind, as if this woman’s reality was a nightmare that could torment even the minds of creatures from a nightmare. Coupled with her eerie smirk, there was no doubt in my mind that this woman’s mental state was completely fractured.

Creeping progressively closer to the boundaries of the mirror, she uttered “I’m not attached to your world, but neither are you. We need each other to live, you’ll see that it’s true.”

Before she could get any closer, I quickly exited the bathroom and went to my room to lie down in my bed. Feeling completely unsettled, I thought “What and who in the actual heck was that? Am I losing my mind again?”

Was I becoming delirious? I truly couldn’t tell. There was an incident several years ago that caused me to lose touch with reality for a few days and, subsequently, I have occasionally gone through short, punctuated periods of psychosis; however, they’ve always been spaced out by a few months and preceded by several days of extensive sleep disturbances. For at least a couple of years now, I have slept perfectly well and have been perfectly lucid. So I should be fine, shouldn't I?

Still deeply concerned, I jumped off my bed and tried to evaluate my mind and its connection to reality. I spent a few hours accessing the internet on my computer and reading novel news stories and scientific studies (whose details were far too intricate for me to imagine), until I relaxed and became confident that I was grounded in reality as opposed to being trapped in some sort of solipsistic, psychotic headspace. Even though I was calm now, I couldn’t just ignore what I had experienced earlier that day, so I decided that I needed to look at all the mirrors in my house if I ever hoped to gain legitimate peace of mind.

First I looked at the mirror in my room. I saw a clean shaven man, wearing a blue sweater; the mirror showed a reflection that was my own. Then I looked at the one in my living room. I saw the same man, but this time I noticed the agony and pain on his face. A little unnerving, but still the mirror showed a reflection that was my own. Finally, I prepared myself to go back to look at the mirror in the bathroom, the place where I had had that bizarre experience of the mysterious, pale lady making unsettling comments to me. I hoped dearly, that the mirror would once again show a reflection that was indeed my own.

After taking several deep breaths, I barged in and stared directly at that reflective portal. At first, I was relieved. I saw myself staring back yet again, and with no sign of the woman in sight. But shortly after, I started to notice that I couldn’t really recognize myself. I saw the same blue sweater and the same clean shaven look, but my facial expression looked inhumane, enraged, and devilish. I then noticed frail hands wrapping from behind me, in my reflection, and ripping skin off of my face. Worms bursted through my skull, draping on my forehead, and blood started to seep from my ears, as I heard a terrible, disembodied chant echoing from the mirror: “Your wife is dead because of you! You took her life, now take yours too! Your wife is dead because of you! You took her life, now take yours too!”

Hands penetrated from below the ground and held my feet in place. Eyeballs rained from the ceiling. I was frozen in fear; this blizzard of nightmarish horror felt far too real. The chanting and chaos finally stopped when all the skin was peeled off in my reflection, exposing nothing but flesh and blood where my face used to be. I was a standing corpse.

“Oh, Honey, has it been that long? Do you not even recognize me anymore? It’s only been seven years since the crash,” said the pale woman from before, walking from behind my reflection. At this point, she was standing directly in front of me, right at the boundary of the mirror.

“I’m so sorry,” I replied. “I’ve missed you every second that you’ve been gone…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she reassured. “You told me not to take that flight… But if you’re really sorry, you’ll let me join you in your world… Punch the mirror, and take a shard. Then we’ll never be apart.”

“I don't want to ever be apart, but my world is such a mess. Can I join yours?” I inquired.

“I love you so much, but I can only be with you in yours ” she responded “Your world is fine, it's just tainted by sight. To be with me, you need to be blind. So take the shard, and cut out your eyes. ”

“That sounds very painful. But nothing is more painful than being without you. If I have to cut out my eyes to see you forreal, then I’ll cut out my eyes, so your love I can feel. ”

As I punched the mirror, everything faded to black. The next thing I knew, I woke up surrounded by doctors in a psychiatric hospital. It turned out that I was days into a psychotic episode, and was found covered in blood from repeatedly punching the bathroom glass. My wife was gone on a month-long business trip, and apparently when she called to check in on me I was speaking complete word salad, so she called the police for a welfare check. Evidently I was so far departed mentally that my memory and connection to reality were completely eradicated. Delusions, paranoia, and hallucinations commandeered my brain. There was no unwell woman and my skin was perfectly intact; the mirror showed a reflection that was my own. The entire time, it was my mind that was dislocated. I’m sure we can fix the mirror, but I wonder if we can ever fix the fractures in my mind.