I let my clothing drop like petals from a dead flower, and all at once I'm exposed. Left without a single shred of protection. Soon enough my hands have tried to cover the parts I'm ashamed of so no one can see. Yet there's far too much to cover and not nearly enough to cover it with. My eyes shift, avoiding the gaze that's staring back at me filled with shame, disapproval, hatred. Eventually I must face the facts and look up. Eventually I have to take in my own reflection. The full length mirror doesn't just hold my image though, but also my imperfections. To me they're huge, blown up enough that the whole world can see. Around the edges of the shaking figure standing in the mirror, there are words. At first they seem faint and peaceful but seen they grow bold and harsh. The words start striking her skin yet it is I who shake with every blow.
"Fat"
"Ugly"
"Slut"
"Frigid"
Each whispers their name with every lash onto my skin. Each leaving their own unique mark as if to claim my body. The welts on my skin and the words that are still striking my shivering flesh fade to nothing but blurs as the tears cascade down my cheeks and over my collarbones.
I've fallen to my knees at this point, clutching my stomach like I'm about to be sick. Openly sobbing out my frail defence against what others have said. My eyes are squeezed shut as if my lack of sight could stop the burning that the words leave as they continue to strike me.
Eventually the pain will stop. Eventually I'll stop shaking and I will stand again. Eventually I will be able to piece my carefully crafted facade back together and wear it with something close to pride. As my sobs start to fade to hiccups I feel a rage bubbling within me. The me that I wish could be is disgusted with this display. Disgusted that I let the things that others say affect me, but more than anything, I'm disgusted that I believed those words for even a second.
Soon enough the strength flows back into my limbs and I can stand, facing the mirror that lies only a few feet in front of me. My steps are wobbly and my knees are weak but any protests are drowned out by the pounding of blood in my ears. Hands have transformed into angry fists, but there's something hiding in my right hand. An eyeliner pencil.
The innocent object is transformed in my grip, to be used for something other than one's pitiful vanity. I've began scrawling the words across the mirror, anything anyone nice has ever said to me. Yet soon they're melting into anything positive I've ever thought about myself.
"Smart"
"Beautiful"
"Determined"
"Strong"
The words have claimed the edge of my mirror leaving only the spaces in between for the true me to shine through. I write across the middle of the mirror my final line before I step back proud,
"I'd love to see the world just try and stop me now"
~Autumn Hewitt
