PAGES OF LIFE

Mirror 🪞

Standing before the mirror, I couldn't escape the harsh reality it reflected back at me. Every curve, every part of me seemed to scream imperfection, amplifying my insecurities. The mirror transformed into a relentless critic, magnifying my flaws and making me feel worthless and ugly.

Tears welled up uncontrollably as the pain of self-loathing and disappointment settled in. "Why can't I just be different?" I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible against the weight of my thoughts.

I couldn't shake the feeling of being too fat, too ugly. The mirror, once a mere reflective surface, became a merciless judge, holding up an image that fueled my frustration.

"Why do I have to look like this?" I muttered, anger building within me. The anguish in my chest intensified with every moment spent scrutinizing my reflection.

The mirror was an unforgiving accomplice, blaming me for not fitting into everyone's beauty standards. I berated myself for not looking the way I thought I should. The reflection stared back, a constant reminder of my perceived failure.

Each glance in the mirror became a tormenting ritual, reinforcing the idea that I wasn't good enough. The curves I saw were not embraced but scrutinized. The mirror didn't just show my appearance; it reflected the weight of self-doubt and my struggles.

In my eyes, I saw someone who fell short of the beauty standards imposed by society. The tears flowed freely, carrying the burden of self-hatred. "Why can't I just be beautiful?" I questioned, the frustration evident in my voice.

I blamed myself for not meeting an ideal that seemed to slip further away with every glance in the mirror. The mirror became a battlefield of negative thoughts, each reflection intensifying the internal struggle. "Why can't I be enough?" I pleaded with my own reflection, as if expecting it to provide an answer.

The more I despised what I saw, the more it fueled a cycle of self-blame. It was as if the mirror held the power to define my worth, and the verdict was always harsh and brutal

I couldn't escape the feeling that I was my own worst enemy. The mirror turned into a constant reminder of my imperfections. "This isn't who I want to be," I murmured, the desperation evident in my voice. It echoed the societal pressures that fueled my discontent, trapping me in a cycle of self-loathing.

The realization of how deeply I resented myself hit hard. The mirror, once a mundane object, became a source of torment. It wasn't just a reflection; it was a judgment that fueled a painful narrative of not measuring up.

Feeling really bad about how I looked, I remembered all the times people said mean things about me. It made me cry a lot. I got so mad at myself for not looking how I thought I should. I grieve the person I could've been.

I covered up all the mirrors with a cloth so I wouldn't have to see myself in the mirror. It felt like hiding from the mirror was the only way to avoid getting reminded of how ugly I am.