Look Into The Mirror

February 4, 2012
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I screamed as the dark figure reached for me, it grabbed me and I let out a loud shriek, but no one could hear me. I wanted to fight back, I didn’t want it to take me, I–I wanted to stay. I tried to kick but my legs wouldn’t move, the coward inside me wouldn’t let me fight, and that little voice in my head wouldn’t let me resist. It’s better this way, the voice told me. The figure pulled me into a dark hole, and I started falling quickly, images blurring past me. They were laughing at me, everyone –dad, my sister Ashley, the people I thought were my friends, my boyfriend Blake (The guy that used to be a good enough liar that he convinced me I was special)–their true feelings about me were finally coming out, I kept falling as they told me how big of a screw up I was. I listened to them as I kept falling, deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit.
What a freak! You can’t do anything right! Stupid! Aw, she’s going to cry! They all laughed. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to stay here, I listened though, holding on to every word. I had to know how they really felt, and I would hear those words echo in my mind forever.
I seen a small light ahead, my mother stepped through it and smiled at me, her smile was sweet, and forgiving, and her hair fell in curls around her face. She looked exactly how I remembered her, exactly how she had looked before she died in the car accident. I wanted to run up to her and hug her, I wanted to cry as she stroked my hair, just like she used to do when I was upset. But I couldn’t move, I was slowly falling toward her, and I could barely hear the other voices anymore. As I came closer to her the darkness swallowed her and she was gone.
I wiped away the tears on my blanket and stared at the ceiling, the dreams were starting again. I got up and went to stand In front of the mirror that hung on my wall. I was supposed to look in the mirror every morning, stand straight, and tell myself that I’m worth something. Instead, I continued to ignore posture and stared at my reflection, and said nothing. The demons inside me glared at me through my reflection’s eyes. I seen my every flaw in those little blue dots, I seen everything that everyone else hated me for. “They should hate you,” I whispered to my reflection. I almost slapped myself, half for believing that I was worthless and half because of all the mistakes that were staring at me through the reflection on the glass. I covered the mirror and got dressed, then left. Scenes from the accident played in my head on my way to my therapy session. I wasn’t sure if the rest of my family blamed me for the accident but I did. Everyone told me that was insane but it didn’t make a difference.
“You’re name?” My therapist asked.
“Amy Calenteer,” I said. She asked me that at the start of every one of our sessions.
“How are you Amy? Anything unusual? Are you doing alright with the things we talked about last time?”
“Yes.” I replied, by then I was able to say that as if I actually meant it.
“How are you doing with you’re family and friends?” Dr. Peters asked, writing things down in her little notepad, and peering at me over the tops of her glasses.
“They hate me.” I was never able to lie when she asked me that.

Dr. Peters took off her glasses and set her notepad aside, as if she was going to need to give me her full attention, as if this was a new, important discovery. “Have they told you that?”
“No, they don’t need to. They try to hide it, they don’t let me know how hard it is for them… just to have me around. They’re relieved when I’m gone.”
“We’ve talked about this, they’re worried about you…”
Our session went on for thirty minutes but I didn’t listen to anything she said–because I knew she was wrong–and I didn’t tell her about my dreams.
When I got home I helped dad with a couple of things, but I knew he wanted me gone. Thoughts started running around in my head, forming in the air and making it hard to breathe. There you go, do as he says and stay out of his way, maybe you won’t mess this up. Maybe. I shouldn’t have to put up with this too much longer. I could imagine dad thinking that as he went about his work, waiting for me to finish and leave. When he looked at me he tried to be sweet, he wanted me to think everything was okay, but it wasn’t.
“Here, I can do that, it’s going to take forever anyway.” Dad said.
“N-no I c-c-can do it,” I replied. I was trying to help, make myself useful like Dr. Peters told me too, and I was stuttering again. I wasn’t supposed to do that, I was supposed to be working to overcome it.
“If you do it like that everything’s going to–” Everything fell to the ground before dad could finish warning me.
“I’m–I–I’m sorr-r-r-y”
“No, it’s fine, I can do it, just… go rest.”
I ran away, and locked myself in the bathroom. I messed up, just like always. I looked in the mirror and stood up straight. “I’m worth something,” I whispered. “People care about me.” The more I looked at myself the more I realized I was lying. “Uuuuuuuuugh!” I hit the mirror and began to shout. I stopped and stared at myself again, looking into the mirror. I was supposed to look into the mirror and tell myself that I mattered, that I was important. I was supposed to look into the mirror and lie. Lie to all my flaws, mistakes, all the demons hiding inside me, looking at me through the glass. Glaring at me, peeking through my little blue eyes. Eyes that were full with rage and resentment.
I gave myself one last glare and picked it up...
I felt my blood, warm on my skin, as I fell to the ground and blood swarmed around me.


I walk to the bathroom door and knock three times. “Amy!” I call. “Amy, it’s Ashley!” I wait a few seconds before reaching above the door and grabbing the key. I push the door open and find Amy on the floor laying in a pool of her own blood. “Help!” I call out. I drop down beside her, and try to get the bleeding to stop as I scream.


My eyes flutter open and I see light and a pretty face.
I smile, letting out one word,


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