Mirror Mirror

In my young and more imaginative days I'd spend the hour in ballet class not doing plies on the barre, but talking to myself in the long mirror behind it. I was convinced that within the mirror there was another world, another dimension in which another me lived. Mirror Me was perfect in my eyes for even then I knew the real me wasn't. I found solace in knowing that somewhere there was version of myself that was perfect and I suppose this is where my deep fascination with my reflection was born. But things are so different now. Gone are the days when I could converse with my reflection in the mirror, to do that now would make me even more of a social pariah. I look in the mirror and now I don't see perfection, I see a vile revolting specter of the girl I am, as I wait for Mirror Me to speak I just sit and glare.

I glare into my reflection in the long red mirror, the mirror that was placed in my room to help me feel secure. The mirror that is supposed to reassure me about who I am. The mirror that doesn't help at all. "What's wrong with you?!" I want to scream into the reflection, but both me and my reflection know that this question has many answers. We know that this question has been asked many times before and will be asked many times again. After a long uncomfortable moment of silence Mirror Me finally speaks.

I press myself against the cool glass. I hope that perhaps the closer I am to it the less I'll see of myself, the less I'll hear from Mirror Me. Finally I build the confidence to listen to what she has to say. I turn my eyes to the mirror and at first glance I think "You're average." And look away. Mirror Me will change my thoughts soon enough. "Sweetheart..." The apparition in the mirror calls " You're looking awfully fat today". Yes I know. I'm looking fat every day. The words go unspoken but my reflection knows what I have said. That sickeningly sweet voice from the mirror coos to me "...and what should girls who look fat do? They