Growing up one of the ghost stories I remember hearing was that of Bloody Mary. Say her name three times in front of a mirror and she’d appear and murder you (I know there are many variations on this legend). With the wisdom of adulthood I know it is nothing more than a silly superstition, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t demons staring back at me when I look in the mirror.
The demon is me. And the dark, horrible truth is that I refuse to know myself, fearful that I won’t like what I find. I torment myself to the point of exhaustion, to the point of not caring whether I am here or not, and that is no childhood ghost story.
Sometimes my therapy makes me feel as though I am getting better. Sometimes it makes me realize how little I know myself, how little I understand my own motivations.
The demon in the mirror isn’t something born of a child’s nightmare. It is far more insidious. It hides in the shadows, twisting my view of the world and my life into something dark and painful.
And this might be where you expect me to end on a hopeful note, something about me exorcising my demons. But I can’t do that, at least not today. Sometimes our lesser angels truly are lesser. Sometimes our darker demons win, even if they are no more than shadows staring back at us from the mirror. Being honest about that is the first step to knowing the demon in the mirror, and to having more control over it. And to having fewer demon filled days.
Today isn’t a good day. The reflection in my mirror isn’t all that shiny. All I can do is wait for it to pass. And to watch for my reflection to change.