Trauma Stories

The Mirror

I stand here, in front of this wardrobe, and I see a mass of flesh.

No beauty, no desirable quality.

The red spots in my face seem to grin, seem to rise up against me, together with my sagging breasts, my fat belly, my gross thighs, my boring hair, my round face and forgettable, at best, rest.

I see someone, I suppose. That someone, however, will reach nothing.

Looking at this abhorrent form, I cannot help but feel unlovable. I know there are ones who care for me, but I see no one with a romantic desire for me.

All I see is an ugly, horrid excuse of a human. Someone shoved aside by potential partners, for they are too much of a friend. Someone tolerated for their niceness, not wished to be around for a kiss.

I feel like a monster as I think about the person I care about most, for they are pretty, they are talented, they are desired. Jealousy and pain rises up inside of me as this beast of a feeling eats me whole. So often I think about this difference, but voicing it is impossible.

They did nothing wrong. They suffer too. Why am I such a monster?

Why am I beyond help and the ones I love, due to no fault of their own, have to end up mocking me in my head?

A brain disabled, a body disabled.

My mind, the untouchable fun house mirror, shows me such awful things. I do not even have to close my eyes, because its taunts are never ending.

I cry, and I cry every day, and while I cry, it screams obscenities at me.

"You cannot quit this torture, you would horribly disappoint the people you love! That is all you ever do, though, is it not!?"

I cry more. I do what I can to mute this voice, to stop it from holding up this mocking mirror, this parallel self that shows me how monstrous I am. But it never works.

Medicine, sports, the sun, doing what I'd love without this dark cloud tainting it - none of these things work. They sometimes, rarely, succeed in momentarily distracting me from my pain, but these moments become more fleeting with each passing day.

I see a future of nothingness. A useless person, not fitting into a society that was not made for them, not having a job at worst and one that tortures them at best, no one who holds their hand, no one who lives with them.

"All these years, you dreamed about the day you would move out. The day your time of proving yourself over and over again was done for good. The day that you'd get to share a quaint, not too pricey, apartment with the one you loved the most.

For years, you talked about it, envisioned it, and got excited. Then they told you, they do not want to ever do that. They said, living in the same house but in different apartments would be fine. You accepted it. But did you really? Did you? Then why, when I show you this reflective board, do I see someone who cries? Someone who knows that this is not satisfactory. Someone who knows that even if it was, the likelihood of that happening is almost nonexistent"

I cry again. Why can I not simply accept this? Why, oh why, can I not simply give for once instead of taking? Instead of being selfish and wanting more than others can give?

Perhaps, that horrid beast was right all those years ago.

I truly am pathetic.