The pieces clatter to the floor. Some shards land by my feet. I stomp on them, feeling content as the glass crunches and breaks into tiny grains.

I don’t care that I’ve destroyed my only way out. I just can’t look at myself anymore.

My feet are bloody, a small price to pay for my satisfaction. Only I’m not satisfied.

It wasn’t enough.

For what I think was a year, I was trapped in this small room. If it hadn’t been for the mirrors, I wouldn’t have been able to see.

Now I see only darkness.

There was a small light, so tiny and hidden I couldn’t tell where it was, but it reflected all across the glass walls, shrouding the place in what I could almost call a nice glow. I learned to hate it after a while.

When I first got here, I remembered what it was like outside. I remembered some of the smells. Some of the colours.

It faded.

At the beginning, I tried to get out. I looked for hidden doors. I would never admit to myself, but I did find one. At the time I just didn’t want to leave.

I don’t know why I’m here. I never did. There must be a good reason, though. Maybe I’m an experiment. Scientists are trying to see how long it takes for someone to go crazy.

Forcing someone to always see their reflection does that pretty fast.

I remember society having ideals for the female body. I was never insecure about my features though.

Until I came here. Always being able to see yourself does funny things to your self image.

For a while I thought that closing my eyes would help. I slept for what seemed like days at a time.

I wouldn’t know any better.

I got tired of the constant blackness of my eyelids. When I opened my eyes again, my reflection haunted me.

I hardly recognized myself. I blocked my looks out of my mind as best as I could. I wished there was one corner. Just one place for me to look at something else. Where I wouldn’t see the girl that looked back at me.

In a blind rage, I smashed the mirrors to pieces. I had forgotten about the door. Truly, this time.

The blood on my feet sticks to the floor. I hear it squelch as I sit down. I don’t feel any of the pain.

I see the sign where the mirror used to be.

𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝙰𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊

I don’t even know if Amara is my name anymore.

I begin to cry.

I wish for it back.

———

Author’s note: Here’s a reminder to love yourself. Don’t look in the mirror and point out your flaws. Because they aren’t flaws. You are beautiful, and handsome, and stunning, and most of all, you are YOU. Remember that today. 💗