A mirror- A shiny reflective, piece of glass that shows all your imperfections and deepest fears about who you are on the outside and what people, at first glance, see of you. When the sight cuts you so deep and a piece of glass breaks off and cuts your skin so deeply you bleed, how far will the pain carry you, how far will you go to fix what others see of you, all your imperfections?

Waking up every morning and facing that mirror is like waking up and facing my worst enemy in an endless battle of hatred, I can say terrible things and wish the worst on that person but they’ll still be standing there, staring back at me, showing me what’s wrong with me. Taunting me for all the things I let destroy me. That heavyset face of mine, the chubby cheeks and big forehead, making it impossible for a hat to fit on top of my oddly shaped head. My arms that sagged for miles beneath the bone that only drug me further and further down. My stomach, so round, making it impossible for me to wear any shirt that wasn’t an extra-large, and even then it reveals the rolls beneath. The thighs that rub together, and burn every time they do, reminding me that all this pain is my own doing, I caused this and brought this on myself, and unless I bite my lip and do something about it I’ll always hate myself and what’s seen of me.

Going to school brought laughter and jokes, whispered as I walked by. I pretended I didn’t hear them and continued to walk, allowing only a single tear to escape from my eye, as my heart let out a single cry. I stopped talking to people, I hid in the back of the room so I could more easily avoid them. Wearing only baggy clothes to try to disguise all that ugliness to the best of my ability so people couldn’t see it. I was relived when I finally got home and could cry into a pillow and stuff my face until the pain somewhat sustained and faded slowly into the back of my head, only to be brought back the next day by the same torture.

When that glass sliced me that deep and I began to bleed, I knew I had to do something. I was so deep in hatred all I wanted to do was harm myself and bring more pain. I took away my comfort, food, I didn’t deserve a comfort when all this pain was my fault. With this punishment I started to see weight falling off and it made me happy, I stopped eating more and more. I started working out to burn more too, and before ­­I knew it more and more weight was falling off more rapidly.

A mirror- A shiny reflective, piece of glass that, now, shows me all that is perfect in myself on the outside and what others now see of me at first glance. The glass cut me, the pain cut me, and it changed me.

Waking up every morning now and facing the mirror is like facing a best friend, embraced with a warm hug and comfort. She told me that I was beautiful and skinny and perfect, but what was funny was that I didn’t feel beautiful on the inside, I felt sick, and weak. I tried to stand the best I could, and see the view on the outside that did make me smile. A thin and narrow, sunken in face that now showed off all my facial bones, my cheek and chin bones popped out and I could see and feel them more than before. Those arms that now appeared more like toothpicks, the little bone that was there showed right under the skin. My back and sides, now exposing my ribcage and spine, every little grove and bump, showing it right below the skin. My stomach flat as a cutting board that only exposed my upper ribs and lower hip bones. My thighs that gap carried on for miles, legs so thin that they needed support to walk and carry the light weight of the rest of my body. The burn of walking and not being able to hold myself up brings pain, pain that only let me see how much I have hurt myself, making me realize I need to do something to change what I’ve done.

Going into school now brought stares and looks of concern upon peers and teachers faces. I kept walking, ignoring everyone just like I had before. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I hid in the back of the classroom and proceeded to keep my mouth shut tight. Walking down the halls hurt. I felt weak and faint but I pushed. I still hid behind big and baggy clothes to avoid any comment on my weight. I went home, and I wanted to cry and scream like before but I just didn’t have the strength. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten or what that might have been.

All I knew was that I was tired. I was tired of not being perfect. I was tired of not being able to please myself or others.

I was tired of being tired..