True Self Staring Back

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. Rather, it showed the truest version of myself. The self without the mask. The self that was hurting and broken. The self that finally no longer exists. It was not an easy journey and I was certainly afraid the entire time, but I now appreciate finding that mirror. It was in my father’s belongings that I obtained after his passing. Deep in the attic of his old farm house, I found some journals and this strange handheld mirror. It had a silver handle and frame, as well as red jewels around the frame.

Quite an odd object for my father to have. Even more odd that it seemed to be purposefully boxed and placed here in the deepest part of the attic. Everything had to get cleared out before the new owners arrived, so into the truck it went. Most of what he had was junk to me and was thrown away. Old newspapers. Some scraps of metal. Knick-knacks he had collected throughout the years. Nothing of any known value. I flipped through some of the journals that were in the box and nothing was overly interesting to me. I had heard all of the stories before. He was rather fond of his youth. That mirror, though. I simply couldn’t seem to get rid of it. My hands just wouldn’t allow me to, so onto the desk it went.

A few months went by and I had forgotten about the mirror. It became buried under some books and stacks of papers. As I was looking for a specific paper, an article about a new building being built in town, I noticed the mirror under the pile. It was face down and that’s when I noticed an engraving on the back of it. I had really only ever looked at it in the dark, so it’s no wonder why I didn’t notice this small engraving down by the handle. I couldn’t even try to say what it was of. It was either some letters in a language I didn’t recognize or some other type of symbol. Maybe it was the brand of mirror, I thought, and I would never claim to be an antique expert.

I grabbed it and inspected it closer, but still couldn’t make anything out from the engraving. The only natural thing to do with a mirror is to look into it, so I turned it over and staring back at me was a monster. My hand jerked as a reflex and I dropped the mirror. I turned around to see if there was anything behind me, and noticed that the room was empty. I calmed down and worked my courage up to look again. So I grabbed it and noticed that it was me. I moved my head back and forth and waved the mirror around and the thing was in the place of myself.

There was also this experience I can’t really describe. I understood and knew that I was looking at myself. This reflection sort of hypnotized me into staring. The face staring back at me was grotesque but I somehow began to grow numb to the fear of it. There was some sort of comfort in looking at it. It was like I had gone under terrible plastic surgery in a back alley. This version of me had patchwork of pale skin in some places and decomposing skin in others. I held it out further and examined my body. Stitches covered my arms, piecing together these mangled sheets of flesh. I even lifted my shirt up to see the same disfiguration when something caught my eye. The reflection had no heart. It was an open cavity, like you would see during an autopsy. The ribs were broken and my lungs inhaled and exhaled along with me, but there was no heart.

That’s when the fear set back in and I dropped the mirror. I needed to step away and clear my head. Racing down the hall towards the bathroom, I passed a hallway mirror and paused. I let out a small sigh of relief as I saw the same old me. Obviously still a little flushed, but all normal skin and no stitches. I walked the rest of the way and was again reaffirmed that everything was alright by the sight of myself in the bathroom mirror.

I tried my best to laugh it off and wash my face. The cool water calming me down a bit. Then I grabbed the towel and dried my face off. When I looked back up in the mirror, I jolted back. A single row of stitches from my hairline down to my eyebrow was there. I reached up and touched my face to find out that the stitches were, in fact, there on my face. I turned around and left the bathroom, almost tripping over the rug.

Disbelief and denial crept in as I ran downstairs. There was no way that any of what I saw was real. I could believe in some kind of trick mirror, but not in my bathroom. I figured some TV would help take my mind off of it, so I turned on anything random and started to scroll social media. After a while, I was pretty calm again but a thought came to mind. Swiping out of the app, I scrolled over and opened my camera but shut my eyes with instant regret. I told myself that it was alright and opened my eyes. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and I began to lose control of my breathing. On my phone was an image similar to the mirror. I had more stitches and parts of my face were mangled. Then I looked down and noticed that my arms were covered those patches.

I’m not sure how to describe what happened next but I could literally hear my heartbeat as I grabbed my chest, making sure it was still closed up. Then everything went black and numb. I couldn’t see or hear anything. Suddenly, a pin prick of light was shinning in the distance. I thought I was dying. I fought and refused to go towards the light, but it seemed like the light was coming towards me. Then it spoke and told me that I wasn’t dying, just that I passed out.

The light told me that the mirror showed me who I really was. That I have been running all my life from truth. I had never healed from childhood trauma or fully grieved the death of my father. It spoke with such kindness and warmth that I felt a shift in myself. It was true. I have kept myself busy all my life, never really talking about what I have been through. It just didn’t seem important. I didn’t have any anxiety or suicidal thoughts like some people so I figured that I was all good. Life was pretty normal. I wasn’t in a situation where I was physically hurting, but I was clearly numb from the emotional hurt.

The light asked me if I wanted to continue the broken life that I was living or if I wanted to make a change. Now that I saw my true self, I was honestly afraid of him. Characterized by death and deterioration. I began to think how long I could actually go on living like that. Plus the panic I felt before passing out was like the floodgates of anxiety were released. I thought if I could actually live that way.

I wanted change. I wanted to feel something again, like I did when I was a kid. The light told me to accept who I had become and give them up. To walk towards truth and growth. To truly process my life and my world. I accepted this truth and the light flew into my heart. When I opened my eyes, my flesh was normal and I just felt better. I could feel warmth coursing through my veins and tears of joy running down my cheeks. I must have cried for the better part of an hour, as memory after memory came to mind.

In the back of my mind, I knew I had to be sure. I felt great and I looked great, but I needed to be sure. So I worked up the courage and walked back up to my office. I walked straight to my desk and picked up the mirror. What was staring back about me was honestly shocking. No longer was the face of a monster, but a young boy. I recognized the boy, because it was a younger version of myself. He was smiling back at me, which caused me to smile as well. It hasn’t been an easy journey since then, but I am so thankful for finding that mirror. Seeing the real me surely freaked me out, but that wake up call was exactly what I needed finally start to heal.