I tried to avoid mirrors. I would pass them and instantly look away. My eyes were always cast down as I brushed my teeth, and my back turned as I changed clothes. Don’t get me started on the moments before a shower, naked with the mirror staring me back. It was a cycle. We would stare at each other as it analyzed me and judged me. Mirror pointed out the worst parts of me. It was hard to differentiate its voice from mine, but I could hear the slight differences. This voice was deeper. darker. I tried to speak clearly and loudly so people could hear me and pay attention. This voice didn’t want other people to hear it. Mirror only talked to me. Mirror didn’t care about anyone else. It picked me to pull apart. It laughed darkly as it pointed at the cellulite that stubbornly clung to my thighs, then the pimples that popped up around my eyebrows. Everything was accentuated while looking at Mirror. I could see everything that it pointed out clearly in its reflection.  

The sounds of the room ruminated in my head. I heard the air conditioner turn on, and the tapping of construction workers outside the apartment, but most of all I heard Mirror laughing at me. I wanted to look away from the clear reflection in front of me, but I couldn’t. There was a sick feeling in my stomach. The more I tried to shy away from the mirror, the more it attacked me. It was getting bolder, reaching out a hand that touched me. It slid its hand across my stomach first. That wasn’t flat enough. It pointed at my eyes. The dark circles from lack of sleep were too dark. My chest was too big and my fingers too chubby. I had never wanted to rip my body apart more than in that moment. I ran my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to comfort myself and shoved Mirror’s hands away in the process. It didn’t work. The laughing was getting louder. It knew it was getting to me. It shook the ground and a bottle of lotion fell over. That shocked me out of my panic-induced stupor. I turned away and walked out. 

I closed my bedroom door behind me and breathed deeply. This is what my therapist said to do. Breathe, Lauren. Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for two, and breathe out for six seconds. As I breathed in, I ran my hands up and down my body. I closed my eyes, relying only on touch. I could feel the cold wood of the door against my back, my fingers touched the bare skin on my arms. Smooth skin against smooth skin. I didn’t feel imperfections or fat, just smooth skin. I liked this. I changed the position of my hands. They were running down my thighs now, pushing up the fabric of my shorts to feel more. Goose bumps rose up. I could feel the stretch marks and scars. I could even feel parts of the tattoo above my left knee, the scar tissue slightly raised from the skin around it. All the while, my eyes were closed, breaths coming on slower and slower and I calmed.  

There was a stark difference in the way Mirror saw me and the way I felt. I felt the imperfections but didn’t instantly feel disgusted by them like I did looking at Mirror. Touch opened up a new corridor in my mind. If I just kept my eyes closed, I could be happy with myself. I stayed that way for several minutes. I enjoyed the blissful feeling that came with the touch. I always enjoyed it when people touched me. Not everyone, just those I felt comfortable with, but a small pat on the shoulder or a hug filled me with warmth. Running my hands softly over myself and reveling in the darkness behind my eyelids brought even more bliss. I didn’t dare open my eyes until my breathing had evened out and Mirror’s voice was nothing but a memory in the back of my mind. 

Like a child peeking through their fingers at something they’re scared of, I slowly opened one eye. The interior of my room greeted me. Everything was shockingly normal. Nothing in the room indicated the struggle I went through, looking at myself, or the fall of that struggle, touching softly across myself. Everything was normal. It was quiet and peaceful. I ventured a look down at my body. The fabric of my shorts was still bunched up around my upper thighs. The lines of my body looked normal. They didn’t look expanded or stretched out by Mirror’s reflection. With one last movement, I placed one hand on my arm and the other on my thigh. My breathing had evened out but without meaning to, it picked up. I pinched the skin of my thigh. It had a certain firmness to it. I let go of myself, pushed myself away from the door, and gazed down at myself. Maybe I wasn’t as bad as Mirror said I was.