I cringe every time I look at myself in the mirror so I almost never ever look at myself in the mirror unless it’s to check that I don’t have something stuck in between my teeth or to see if my nose is still off centre or if my face is still horribly asymmetrical or if my face is still funny or it’s an awful accident but sometimes, it’s so much more than that. Sometimes, when I can stand looking at myself long enough, I get scared because I see all of me and I see all ninety-seven fragments of myself trapped in my champagne-coloured eyes, struggling to break free. I see weakness and failure and disappointment and boredom and restlessness. I see what people see when they tell me I look so much like my mother but I also see the awkwardness and bafflement in their pitying gazes because I am not beautiful like her. I see my father’s eyes. I see myself cradling my fragility and I see everything I am and everything I’m not and everything I should be and everything I can’t be and everything I want to be but I really see that I’m nothing and I cringe every time I look at myself in the mirror
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