Tribulation [h.s]

18

"I know that you say I get mean when I'm drinking, but
Then again, sometimes I get really sweet so
What does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself?
Or if I say that you're beautiful to me?"

-

I never did like mirrors.

For a long time, I thought they were deceiving, but, staring at my reflection with my eyes gazing over my cheeks, the blue of my eyes, the slope of my nose, my dry pink lips, and my short brown hair, I realize they aren't.

My reflection isn't a lie. I want it to be because if it were, maybe it would be easier for me to get out of bed every day, but that's not the case now, is it?

Reflection is an extension of oneself.

I hate lying, but damn, I fucking despise the truth sometimes.

My mind is always racing with self depicted hatred, loathing, and regret, making my insides feel dull and heavy. I'm filled with dark and ugly, I know, and my reflection puts it all up for show and tell. Other people may not see it, but I do. I'm a walking nightmare.

That's why I hate looking at myself.

That hatred is probably the reason why I've broken so many mirrors. Fractured mirrors seem to be the only ones I tolerate, and maybe that's because I find some semblance in those broken pieces.

For right now, at least, I gaze at my reflection after locking myself in the woman's bathroom. Alone, I let my thoughts run wild, hands gripping at the sink counter rather than punching the mirror and screaming.

I never realized that I almost forgot what I looked like. When was the last time I stopped to really look at myself? I can't remember. How fucked up is that? At that thought, I suddenly feel all of the dark and ugly swirl inside me. I'm a stranger to my own self, and I never thought something like that was possible.

Fuck, why am I even doing this to myself?

I should look away, but there's something strange swirling inside me with all of the other dark emotions I can never bring myself to analyze or understand. It's a twisted type of pleasure hidden under all of the pain. I wonder how it got there.

I take a deep breath and finally will myself to look away. I'm shaking when I look down at the small baggie in my sweating hand.

It's been a while, too long if you ask me.

Pain may be addicting, but so is the cure. The cure is in my hands, ripe for the taking, so why am I hesitating? I'm going under again, I know, so what's the point of holding back? I've already let everyone down.

I pull my phone out from my back pocket and realize it's nearly three in the morning. I didn't call Maggie on my break tonight. Granted, I did start reading her stories before I left for work due to the unprecedented situations I often found myself in now, but I did promise I'd try to call her on my breaks still.

Instead, what did I spend my break doing tonight?

Buying these fucking pills.

I unlocked my phone, ready to call Julie to see if maybe Maggie was awake and see if I could speak to her. Thinking that plan over, I realize how unlikely that is. Maggie was tired before I left. She must be asleep by now. So, maybe I could just call and listen to Julie's sweet voice instead.

I look down at the small plastic baggie filled with pills once more. Did I want to call Julie right now as I'm about to break my sobriety? No, probably not. On top of that, we aren't doing too well.