The thing in my mirror

I’m in your mirror. I’m the thing that you see. I whisper in your ears at night, make you hate yourself. Every morning, when you check your reflection in the mirror and you can’t bear to stand what you see, that’s me.

I check my reflection in my bedroom mirror as I get out of the shower and see everything that’s wrong with me. I see it every day. It’s a list running off in my head. I turn away from the mirror and dress myself. I don’t look back at it when I go out. But out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a shadow, a trick of the light.

I see all these girls at my school and they’re obsessed with themselves. They spend ages in front of the bathroom mirrors fixing their hair and their makeup. Can’t they see anything wrong with themselves? Don’t they hear the whispers in their head? I envy them. I wish that I could look at myself in the mirror just once and not notice anything wrong with me. There’s always something. I’m too fat, my eyebrows are too thick, my eyes are watery. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUUT UP!” I scream at my bedroom mirror.

I’ve been doing it for years, ever since she started noticing the boys in her class. I started whispering in her ear. It was little things at first. There were days she would smile at the mirror. But I’m a parasite. I’ve been living in her mirror for too long now. And I think I’ve finally done it. She hates everything about herself.

I’ve never been one of the popular girls. I’ve always lacked their confidence. I can hear them sometimes, laughing. It’s like they’re laughing at me. I don’t know when it started. I remember this girl. She was so confident and she played ball. But that’s not the girl in my bedroom mirror anymore. I’m the girl who reads Emily Dickinson and has a hunchback because of the weight of the books I carry.
I see it again. Like something moving behind my mirror. I’ve been staring at myself for quite some time now. Today, some girl told me I had pretty eyes. I think she was trying to flirt with me. I don’t know why I kept thinking about it all the way home. What if I do have pretty eyes? But the same old face greets me when I look in the mirror. Still, I sit there and try to will myself into imagining myself pretty. On my good days, I didn’t hate my hair. It was long and soft. Still too fat, the voice in my head whispers. And I turn away again.

It turns out the girl was trying to flirt with me a little. But we’re friends now. She says she’s never met anyone who’s so smart and who doesn’t give a crap about blending in. Maybe she’s still trying to flirt but I realise it’s true. I’ve always known I was smart but ever since I was a girl, I’ve been told what’s right and what’s not. The standards of beauty have been defined for me when that’s not how it’s supposed to work. I can look at myself in the mirror and know that it’s okay being me. This isn’t wrong. The voices are wrong.

I don’t like what’s happening. She’s beginning to look me in the eyes. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to hate herself. That’s what I’m there for. She barely hears me whisper anymore.

Then, it’s prom season and somehow the whispers are louder than ever. No boy should be able to define how I feel about myself but I can’t help but turn away from the mirror. Sometimes, I almost imagine I see something move every time I turn away from the mirror. At night, it’s like I hear whispers. When someone asks me to the prom, I’m more than surprised. That day, the list was the longest it’s ever been.

I’m sitting in my room, waiting for him to come pick me up. He’s half an hour late. I try to ignore the voices in my head. The monster in my mirror rears her ugly head. I can list everything that’s wrong with you. If only you looked just a little more like Brittany maybe he would be here by now. Don’t you understand a prank when you see one? You’re ugly and you’re stupid. That dress doesn’t even look good on you. Maybe you should just have said no. Why didn’t you listen to me? You know I always have your best interest at heart.

The doorbell rings and my mother tells me it’s my date. He came after all. I look at myself in the mirror. Today, I feel pretty. Even by the society’s standards. But I tell myself I will never believe in them again. I know I am beautiful no matter what the society tells me. As I shut the door, I hear something shatter. The mirror in my bedroom shattered from side to side.

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So I’m just gonna leave that there. *whistles innocently*

BTW, this was tthe story I was talking about, Bhramori.