Looking into a mirror. It could be as superficial as quickly checking to see if I am put together to actually standing there and assessing my past, present and future. This time, I am taking an assessment of where I stand currently. I look at the cracks beginning to show on my forehead. I see them as layers of masks that I have to wear on a daily basis. The code-switching one I put on for work to relieve some of the anxiety of the possibility of being misunderstood. The one to protect my peace while I’m out and about. The one I put on to hide unfiltered negative emotions so I can show love, relax, show softness and play with my children. The one that lets some of the unfiltered emotions be shown but still show love and softness to my significant other. The only times I can remove these masks, and the many others are when I’m on a late-night solo drive or standing in front of this mirror.

Based on the day, my eyes decide how much of the tale they will show the outside world. They can be bright, full of happiness or feign that reality based on the audience. Other times, they can show how much I tried to find enlightenment through whatever medication I felt was needed the night before. I become an alchemist as I try to find the right ingredients and mix them together to concoct the perfect potion to reach an alternate mind state to try to piece together the psyche that has been broken apart and shattered several times because I felt life made it a necessity. My eyes could show that the conversation with the spirits lasted too long, the psychedelic journey kept me up or the herbal remedy still has a hold on me. More often than not, these eyes are good actors and portray the best thematic masterpiece possible.

As I brush my teeth to combat their dullness and decay, I look closer. I try to keep my teeth white, but at the same time, I overwork them at night because of the constant grinding I force them to do while I slumber. So, because I compartmentalize so much, forcing unvoiced struggles down into a box throughout the day, they burst out and yell throughout the night. This makes my subconscious fight through them, only for me to not remember the war when I wake up in the morning.

I put my hand against the mirror and from the other side my demons reach back. They’re all different shapes, sizes and forms. There are grotesque monsters with scales, lesions, claws and fangs protruding from their drooling jowls. Another looks like a vixen from a magazine whose hiding her venomous nature. One seems harmless, but his shadow betrays its innocent demeanor. Some attempt to interlock our hands since we're still in the battle, vying for control or a release because that's what they think is needed. Others touch palms with me in concession and acknowledge that I've won that fight. They just want me to know that they're still there just in case I miss them. A few more accept our coexistence and give a nod and rest their hand on my shoulder. The rest are rotting away, because they do not have a hold on me anymore. The mirror is usually in a well-lit room, but the feelings it might invoke can make it feel like the darkest abyss.

All in all, this is the test: looking in the mirror and giving myself a once over. Staring and accepting the imperfections I’ve come to accept. Seeing if something has changed as I continue to self-reflect and improve my physical and mental. Seeing if I’m missing something because my brain attempts to keep memories and incidents from myself and the clash in the wee hours of the night, unbeknownst to me. And, to see if I missed a spot shaving or have toothpaste on my face.