The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It was me, but there was something warped, and that was not me. I narrowed my eyes and peered into the narrowing eyes of my deformed reflection. I was off, and while I could see it in my reflection, no one else could see it. At least no one acknowledged it.

Getting out of bed had become a chore. A chore I hated. After fifteen to twenty minutes of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing I hadn’t woken up, I finally shifted to the side of the bed, legs dangling down the four-foot-high drop to the floor.

Another five minutes of not wanting to move.

I got up and headed to the bathroom. I peed, then washed my hands. I saw that twisted image staring back at me. He mocked me as I brushed my teeth. He mocked me when I cleaned my ears. He mocked me any time I passed by his home, peering at me with those piercing dead eyes.

I tried my best to forget him throughout the day. But then a mirror popped up in the wild, and I saw him again. Whatever I was doing was no longer at the forefront of my thoughts. Instead, his repulsive demeanor glared in my mind’s eye, and I always paused. I stuttered and stopped, both physically and mentally, before pushing that thought out of my mind. Then I had to readjust in order to finish my task.

Any reflection large enough caused this distress and made my life harder. People must not have seen it, but if I tried to tell them, whatever explanation I could fathom to explain the monstrosity would have made me look insane. I had enough problems. Real problems. Not some silly imaginary one.

Friends and family didn’t see it. Maybe they did and just didn’t know how to help. Either way, I was alone in this fight against the deformed me staring back at me at every chance. Sometimes, when I was embarrassed or low for any reason, I felt his eyes on me. I froze, then searched for his eyes and always found more than I could take. I had to flee the situation, making up random nonsense to get out of life.

I often found myself sitting in the dark, all reflective surfaces covered in some fashion, staring into the abyss.

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process, he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

I pondered what was actually gazing back, changing me, making that part a disgusting image I saw even without mirrors. I found myself mentally fighting an enemy that was part of me. And it was taxing, because I always seemed to barely get free of the grasp of the infinite darkness. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep, fearing that sight in the bathroom mirror in the morning. I wanted to get away. I needed to get away.

The next morning, I got up with a pep in my step and headed to the bathroom. While the light was still off, I hurried and threw a towel over the mirror. Then the light came on, and I was alone. I took a needed shower, having already removed the shaving mirror from its holder, and found some solace in solitude. I enjoyed the hot water rinsing the grime off me, almost like a bit of the monstrosity was being washed away.

After several long minutes in the shower, I came out feeling like a brand-new man. I dried off and cleaned my ears and brushed my hair without the help of a mirror. This day felt different from the previous days. Happier? Maybe, but either way, I was looking up for once. Life wasn’t a curse, and I almost forgot about my shadow-like enemy that waited for me in any reflection.

The mirror was revealed, and I was shocked into action. My reflection was even worse than I remembered, and it infuriated me. I ran at the mirror, raising my fists over my head. Slipping on the tile, I fell face-first into the sink. I tried to pull my arms down to break my fall, but instead they smashed into the mirror, shattering it. At first it seemed a great achievement, but when I finally sat up from the fall, I noticed the stinging in my forearms was more dire than I first thought. At first I believed only a few shards of glass had cut me, but now I knew my wrists and forearms were covered with deep lacerations, the blood pooling beneath me.

I lay there, knowing the abyss had won. Whatever it had been, it had beaten me. I rambled as the blood poured out of my arms, stealing my energy. My eyes grew heavy, and I knew this would be the last time I closed them.