"You’re not real."

For the thousandth time, I told the image in the mirror to shut up. Creature, really. I spat toothpaste into the sink and drowned out the broken record by turning the tap fully open. Yesterday, it was, "The problem is you," and the day before that, "Save yourself!" Trying to remember before that is kind of like trying to remember what you had for lunch after three days, especially if it wasn’t very good.

Sometimes if I’m lucky, I can trip up my Visitor in the mirror. Rushing water, flipping the light on or off, and avoiding looking in the mirror helps. Reflective surfaces anywhere can pick up its appearance if I’m close enough. However, the elements—water, light, even a strong breeze—can distract enough that I can shake the earworm and walk away with my mind on other things.

We are actually well-acquainted. A solid week's stay this time—that qualifies us as, what, at least roommates; maybe it's time I charge rent. Yeah, I recognize this is my Ghoul of Anxiety. During countless nights of insomnia, one tends to figure out a lot of things…what else is there to do at 1:37am in the morning, or 2:26, or 3:51, for that matter. I’m actually not as freaked out by the Ghoul of Anxiety as I am by the Ghoul of Nighttime Anxiety. Of course, that’s how I determined there were actually two Ghouls, going by similar names; the one at night is, by far, a vicious predator. That one is a bully, roots for bullies, and operates me in replay/get-ready cycle mode to the brink. The nocturnal Ghoul is more than a thief in the night. Its daytime opposite, and I’m not sure if they’re blood-(spirit?)-related, is simply a trying nag. A hag I eventually figure out and dis-miss. Maybe that’s mean. I’m just sick of her…not that it's a she at all. Let’s just say, I'm ready for her-it-thing to vacate the premises…or pay rent. Actually, no…time to evict all intruders, including this one.

So, this Ghoul of Anxiety…actually has a lot to tell me. Half-skimmed articles about shadow work tell me as much; I’ve had the same hunch.

At the risk of ear worm, I go back to the bathroom mirror.

"At last, you listen?"

When I look in the mirror, my Ghoul of Anxiety peers closely, eyes glowing, bony hands pressed to the glass. I place my right hand to its left. Though the glass is cold, I swear an electric current filtered between us. This was my moment.

"What is this going on about, about me not being real?"

The wraith attempted to withdraw but couldn’t. "Holographic nature, all."

Information I’d also traipsed across recently as well, and it was enough for my 3-lb pound brain both to ponder and do something about.

"Oh very much so, and so then as real as this," I drew my right hand back as held up my left hand as cutting fingers. The eyes of the Ghoul flashed and narrowed. The magnetic string between us burned in my palm. "I cut this cord and all cords with you and your relations, Anxiety. Goodbye and get out."

I snipped with my fingers close to the glass and against my hand.

When I looked up at the mirror, all I saw was my own reflection. I needed a haircut. I flicked the light off on my way out.