The Monster in the Mirror

It’s not my fault, I thought to myself. Staring into the mirror, I saw only the monstrous thing that everyone else understood me to be. Why was I born this way? I didn’t ask for it, certainly, and all I can think when I see this reflection is of the revulsion I see in the eyes of my peers. Then again, couldn’t I do something about it? Maybe a makeover? The right haircut, the right cheekbones, the appearance is so off-putting. Maybe this IS all my fault.

I try so hard to be kind to make up for my hideous features. Everyone I approach cannot give me the space for my personality to shine through my physical ugliness. Why can’t anyone see past how I look to see who I am? It makes me so angry sometimes.

I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. The constant taunts of “Freak” and “Circus animal” were just so hurtful I had to make it stop. The words were coming from his mouth and the fastest way to make them stop seemed pretty obvious. They didn’t know I had feelings? Well, now they do. I asked nicely. What else could I do? The crunch was oddly satisfying. I didn’t know what to do with the mandible once I had separated it. I left it with him in hopes my rage had only caused temporary injury. They called me a monster for what I had done.

Now, here I am, staring myself down and wondering why I can’t control myself when I’m abused and disparaged. Is it true? Am I the monster that they said I am? Unsure of myself, I find that I have the wish to hold this mirror up to those tormenting me. Would they be able to see that they are hideous as well? My ugliness is laid bare for all to see but theirs is so much more insidious. Hiding like a snake in the grass, the monster in them holds true venom that can’t compare to the physical violence I have just done. My head begins to droop in sadness. Suddenly, there is a knock on the mirror. My reflection is impatient with me and begins to lead an inquisition on my state of mind.

“Who are you?”, my reflection seems to beg of me. It causes me to pause and wonder if I have ever truly known. Have I always just gazed into the mirror wondering who everyone else thinks I am? The question begs for an answer that my soul cannot provide. In my reflection, a deeper reflection expands and I can’t decide if I should allow it to happen or restrain my internal impulses. Embracing the satisfaction I felt earlier seems natural and even in someways enjoyable. That would mean I can never be a part of the world that I long to belong in. Even then, rejecting justice for myself feels the same way. Can I never be my grotesque self because it makes others uncomfortable in my presence?

A second knock. Now I don’t just see myself in the mirror. There are many of us ‘freaks’ looking back at me. We are not alone. Why have I never known them or their existence? Surely, there has to be more of me. I can’t be the only one. I can’t see their faces in the reflection. Squinting, I try harder to make them out. It is fruitless; every time I can start to focus on a face it becomes blurry and indiscernible. Who are these people in my reflection?

I put my finger on the mirror directly underneath a face. My eyes follow down the barrel of that finger to the mirror. All I see is my own reflection. This can’t be. Am I everyone of these monsters? I try again with a different face and the same result. It makes no sense to me. How can I be one monster and a million at the same time? I’m frantically thinking about the past day and all I come back to is the last time I showed my face in public. Did I create my own monster? It sure seems to be that way. I have joined a club of many monsters that all chose the path I did for revenge and retort.

Head bowed, I retreat from my mirror and what my eyes can see. Wondering if it would be different to feel instead of see, I burrow again into that moment for that taunting asshole. Why did he have to push me so far? Did he not see my face or understand that I was upset by his comments? It is all disappointing now but my reaction was not over the top. No. No, I was justified. People should pay for their actions.

In fact, the more I think about this, the more I think I should join the public more often. Yes, they should see what horrors they create with their behavior. Why should I bear the shame of being different from such a cruel population? These are, after all, the same people inflicting horrors on themselves for invisible differences. I am a truly visible difference; what they consider a monster. The only thing that can unite them is seeing the horror of my presence. I don’t know why I ever expected anything different.

As I lay to rest, there is no more knocking. I feel no more guilt. How could I? It’s not my fault. I am what I was made to be. The monsters at the door aren’t of my making. They are seeking to put themselves one rung up the ladder by grinding up those beneath them. Yes, I do see a hideous and deformed figure when I look in the mirror. I am slowly beginning to realize that it doesn’t make me a monster.

What makes a true monster is invisible and immeasurable. The same crowd rallying me out of public spaces are the ones who can’t see their ugliness in the mirror like I can. Maybe that is my blessing and my curse. I know I am ugly. I can do better. I could deliver them what they deserve, but not today. I just found my beauty and I intend to keep it.