When I look in the mirror, it is not me. Instead, it is some devilous creature staring back at me. I have a feeling they’re just begging to be released from the mirror frame; to reek whatever hell they’ve expirenced on others.

It claws at me, trying to sctratch its way out, but it cannot. At least, I hope it never does.

Due to this factor, I have found displeasure in mirrors. I tend to avoid my own reflection, even though it is not of me. People ask me how I’m not insecure or self-conscious of myself yet, and I just respond,”well because I don’t even know what I look like to begin with.”

At the end of the day though, as my thoughts keep me awake at night, I wonder if it’s really is me. Except it’s not my relfection from the outside, but the inside of me. Could it be?

No.

No. It just can’t.

I’m a good person.

Right?