Mirrors

every morning I get out of bed, and go to the bathroom to wash, shave, and get ready for the day ahead. every morning I look in the mirror. I don’t see myself looking back at me, I see my face, my eyes, the mole on my forehead that’s been there for years, I see the lines on my face, getting deeper with the age, but I don’t see myself. I see someone tired, someone hopeless, someone worthless, someone taking space, time and oxygen from more deserving people. I see a mask that looks like mine.

I know this is just the illness, I know that my mind is sending me messages that aren’t in my control, that are counterintuitive given the daily messages of love and support that I receive, but there they are, throwing the dark cloud across me, feeding the black dog, when all I want to do is take the dog for a long walk, off a short pier.

Occasionally, I glance away and just for a second I see a flash of myself, the person that I want to get back to being, and however fleeting, it gives me hope, if not comfort. So I’ll try to keep myself occupied, try to keep myself busy, and try to get out of this box that we call ‘home’, and day by day, I’ll continue to search for the person I have lost, each day I’ll leave no stone unturned, until I can come back here one day and say yes, it’s me.

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