The Mirror

⚠️Content Warning: Domestic Violence, Blood, Bruises, Self-Distortion, Abuse⚠️

All of this is fictional. No real characters.

It's been a year... The day feels fuzzy like a TV channel that no longer exists. Walking to the mirror and looking in is the worst feeling. My hair is a mess from tossing and turning for hours on end all night only to get two hours of sleep. It makes me look like a fucking lion. I wish I were a lion, if I was I would ruin his life in a matter of seconds. Ripping his body to shreds as he did mine, Leaving him barely alive with the scars to prove it. I don't want to deal with this I will just throw it up in a messy bun, good enough right?

It's been a year.. how am I still seeing the bruises on my neck, the fingerprints so clear he could be found by them being tested. My eye isn't black, is it? No, it's your imagination. It's not real, well at least not anymore. It's been a year, and the scars on my stomach are just as deep as the day he made them, the only difference is the blood is gone. Or is it? I can still feel it, the serrated edge cutting through my layers of delicate pale skin as he does what he wants to me. Why did I lift my shirt up in the first place? Why am I doing this to myself?

It happened a year ago, why don't you just let it go? Oh, it's because he may have ruined my chances to live an everyday life. He may have taken so many opportunities away from me and I will never know until the time comes. I can't go through the mornings without feeling absolutely disgusted with myself, I feel his grimy hands on me still, as he moves his hands up my thigh. I was not strong enough to stop him... I TRIED, I HAD SKIN AND BLOOD UNDER MY NAILS!!! It meant nothing. It didn't stop you. All that happened was more pain and suffering. Why do I look in the mirror every fucking morning? I'm done with this! I can't do it anymore! Turing my back from the mirror. Move your feet. Take a step. MOVE!!!! Don't turn back around… please please don't turn back around… why did I turn back to the mirror. My eyes are so dull, the life has gone away and I don't think it will come back. I want it back, I want the enthusiastic, happy human I was back then. I don't know if I am even considered a human anymore.

Only a year ago I was like that. What happened to the old me? I ask myself this question all the time and I can never find the answer. Maybe if I never met him this would have never happened… Maybe if I didn’t get his number I wouldn’t have to live like this anymore. It’s all my fault. All the blood, all the scars, all the bruises. All my fault. It's always my fault. When will it get better? When will I be able to look in the mirror and not find myself disgusting? When will I find myself beautiful again? Probably never… I don’t want to be revolting anymore… I want to be prepossessing again, not for anyone else but for myself. I always thought my enemy would be the man that did this to me or it could be me, the one who keeps seeing these things on my horrid body all the time every time I walk into my bathroom. It's not the man or myself, it's must be the mirror.