Mirrors

I look at myself through a lens that no one else can see. One side of me I can hide, but not when my reflection is staring back at me. What you don’t see is what you can lie about, what you can cover up. All that can be undone when your forced to face yourself through a simple piece of glass. Sure, you think you can cover it up, but you know deep down no matter how hard you try to fix your outer appearance, you’re afraid that the inside won’t change. Every time you look at yourself, you get nauseated to the point where you can’t even find any value in yourself. You’re just a hollow shell, looking into a mirror to see if anything is there, but the sad truth is there’s nothing. We try to find value in things like electronics, money, drugs, love and sex, or other material things, but what does it mean to find actually, genuinely ourselves? What does it mean to be able to wake up one day, look in a mirror, and not get sick?

I recently decided to get back in touch with my writing and despite some setbacks I have managed to at least find some clarity with myself. It hasn’t fixed all my problems, but at least I can know I can be honest with myself on pen and paper. Or e-pen and paper. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to stick with it this time. One of my worst faults is that I get so caught up in with trying to lose weight, checking my social media, looking for a job, or working a multitude of jobs. Tie all these together and you get one sick spinning mess. I spin so much that I look like Cyd Charisse on Speed. If you don’t know who that is, then watch Singin In the Rain with Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds. Anyways, I’m hoping that maybe I can stick with my writing and continuously keep posting to my Medium page. I’m trying to aim between nonfiction, fiction, and some poetry, but don’t hold your breath on the last one.