The Stranger In The Mirror
How I ended up being the evil I despise
On a normal day, I would encounter him twice. Some days more often.
That familiar stranger. That visage of a man I thought I knew. But I was wrong.
Sometimes, he would mock me. Take what was left of my shattered self-esteem and crush it under his heel until all that remained was dust.
Sometimes, he would give me false hope, build me up with a brotherly arm around my shoulder and words of reassurance, only to yank the rug from under my feet when I least expected.
Sometimes, he would appear empathetic and supportive. “You’ve got this. Today is just the beginning. Life will feel better, the sun will shine brighter, the traffic lights will be green, and there could even be puppies.” (I quite like puppies. I especially like puppies with round tummies that require scratching.)
But this man is evil. The sun he speaks of will burn, the green light is someone else’s red, and the puppies become cold-eyed wolves ready to tear your skin and hound your nights. And some days, some cold, dark nights, there is no “better” on life’s horizon. You can’t see it.
That man is me. But there are times I do not recognize him. The stranger in the mirror.
Three plus decades of devotion. Sacrifice. Using up all the self-care credits on caring for others. Then, just when you need to make a withdrawal, the unblinking, unfeeling screen simply rejects your request —
Insufficient funds available. Deposit required.
You pathetic loser, Bedswerver.
That’s what you’re thinking, right? Get a hobby. Join a club. Take up a sport. See a therapist. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, pick yourself up, and get on with enjoying middle age. The kids are adults now. Home is comfortable. You can afford dinners out.
Not what you were thinking? Huh. That’s a surprise, because it is actually what I thought. For years. Not every day. Some days are consumed with crushing defeat. Others are bright and cheerful and full of hope. Those in between days, though, have often featured some version or another of “Get a grip, you weak coward.”
That’s the thing, though. Even though the man in the mirror is sometimes unfamiliar, I know a few things about him. Know with certainty. Ironclad certainty.
I am not weak nor a coward. Weak cowards would have checked out years ago. Run, hidden, taken on a new, fake persona. Or maybe a more permanent solution. I am also not evil. I am beyond caring what anyone else thinks, so you are cordially invited to think whatever you like. I don’t give a fuck.
You see, no one can beat me up as badly as I have. Remember “Sticks and stones….” How words can’t harm you?
Bullshit. Not words that others say. They can’t harm. But the words that the man in the mirror thinks, they will tear through the fabric of your soul and oh, yes, Dear Reader, they harm.
Nothing is good enough. Nothing really matters. You go through the motions of life, hell, you have friends, colleagues that like you, and you put on your cloak of casual indifference. I’ve even been told that people envied my upbeat, friendly, engaging manner. Fun to be around, apparently.
The man in the mirror, though, he knows me like others don’t. And he hates me.
First he hated me because he thought that all I needed to do, what would resolve my secret, internalised problems, was to simply sacrifice more of myself. And I did. Slowly, gradually, but surely, the little hammer tapped on the diamond-coated facade. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Relentless. Tap. Another unappreciated gesture.
Tap. Another snide comment, or defensive jibe to deflect any sense of responsibility. Is marriage a two-way street? Ha!
Tap. Rejection. From the one whose rejection cuts like a knife.
Tap. The expression of emotion was just pushed aside, carelessly dismissed with a waved hand of indifference.
Tap.
Any geologist will tell you. Tap anything in the right place, relentlessly, over and over, for long enough, and it will cause a fissure, then a crack, and then, eventually, a catastrophic failure. The diamond-coated facade breaks, leaving the fragile contents exposed.
Then, the gaslighting bastard in the mirror finds another, even more evil tactic.
He leads you into a fairground of gaudy lights and sweet pleasures. Rewards abound. Prizes to cherish.
And all you need to do to grasp those rewards is become someone you never imagined yourself to be. Take the step over that line, and all your rope tosses and basket shots will hit their targets, and you will have your prize. Easy, huh?
Forsake yourself. After all, that’s what you’ve done for decades. So what does it matter if, instead of pretending to be happy, you pretend to be someone else?
But he has another secret. Another hidden trap door and he holds the lever.
Because when you do say, “Fuck it. I deserve more. I am ok with taking some time for me. I’ll refill my self-care credit account, and then I can be me again, but better…” then, there is another crushing blow coming from behind you.
It’s when the self-doubt kicks in. Not good enough. Don’t earn enough. My car is a piece of junk. My clothes are worthless. And the real killer punch? I’m not desirable, not even worthy of desire.
Weak cowards give up here. At this point, they lick their wounds and limp home. Beaten. Ashamed.
And that’s why I know I’m not one.
Because I’m fighting back. I’ve come to terms with the man in the mirror. In fact, he now fears me. Like Rocky, I’ve pushed my broken nose back into place, climbed off the canvas, and delivered the knockout punches.
Maybe I was the truly evil one all along? I don’t think so. I also don’t care. I just know that true evil could overtake me if I let it. I will never let it.
So, an adulterer’s life for me. Secrets. Lies. Cheating. Self-loathing, maybe, but no more self-doubt. When beautiful, charming women half my age show genuine interest and true attraction to me, not in the soulless mirror, my credits are refilling.
Once I’ve banked enough, I may retreat to being myself for others. Maybe. There’s one other factor that I have not dissected yet:
Becoming addicted to that which has filled the void. MonalisaSmiled writes about it here — “Physics Of Infidelity.” So, for now, Dear Reader, I have overcome the evil man in the mirror. And I am enjoying life more fully than I have for decades. Because I know someone else will like my reflection. She’ll like my visage. She’ll enjoy my company and even put up with my appalling jokes. We’ll laugh. Talk. Touch. Fill each other’s voids. All I have to do is put myself out there, and we’ll find each other.
So, the man in the mirror served his purpose. He took me down, rubbed my face in the dirt, humiliated me. Just what I needed. Just what I needed to decide, I am not prepared to be used, unappreciated, and neglected. I have “pulled myself together.” Better than any therapist could hope to, I am repairing. Ready for the next chapter.
Please clap, highlight, respond. I want to read your reactions. I want to engage, Dear Reader. Encourage me. Go on. You know you want to. I’m evil, but I’m also fun to play with.
