I would look better in a broken mirror. I don’t like that I can’t hide my emotions, so my reflection shows my true feelings when inside I feel numb. I see my eyes’ blood vessels pulsing. My teeth are clenched and my eyebrows are stuck in a scowl. I have a pit in my stomach that makes me sink, my shoulders slouch and my wrists tighten. I try to distract my self, looking down at my lap and fidgeting with my hands.

When I caught myself off guard glancing back at the mirror, a second was all it took.

I saw this woman.

She was tired, with specks of mascara sprinkled under her eyes. Stains on her shirt painted a story, one that is all too familiar. Her exhaustion resonates with me, and I am overcome with humility. I am reminded of what happened when I see myself on the outside. The rage is gone, I am only weak and pathetic now.

Tears swell, bubbling on my waterline. My eyes look so pretty right before I cry. But as the corners of my lips pull away and my cheeks turn tense and red, I feel anything but pretty now. I fight to keep my mouth shut. To stay silent, because at the first slight of a whimper I will not be able to shut it off. I can’t say my reflection is any better at consoling me. Her dispair trumps my sense of reason. You can’t console someone when you are falling apart yourself.