Facing My Fear

• Tara Kiraly, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2018

I have a fear I face everyday.
This isn’t any common fear like spiders, or clowns, or the zombie apocalypse. This fear is much more scarier and much more extreme. I feel the urge to cry every time I think about it. When I confront it and stare it in the eyes, I wrap my arms around myself and tears start flooding out of my eyes. Which is why I cannot face it. It hard, though, because it’s an object people see every single day. We see it in the bathroom, we see it in particular stores. Sometimes people even use it for décor. Which makes it hard to avoid. It’s something I can’t stay away from and I struggle to look at.
I have a fear of mirrors.
Well, looking into them to be precise. Every time I look at my own reflection, I feel so insecure that I close up. In that moment I don’t feel proud to be myself. I feel like an outcast, like a joke. My mind makes me feel stupid for thinking or believe that I could be considered looking pretty even for one second in this universe filled with years. It’s pain that haunts me everywhere I go.
Last month, I went out with my friends to the shops. All of them started trying on sunglasses at one of the stores. Everyone but me that was. I would look at some sunglasses and contemplate whether or not I like them. But I wouldn’t put a pair up to my face and look in the mirror to see how it looked; not even if my friends made me. This did make me feel left out at times, but I’d rather feel left out than ridiculed by my mind.
One thing that hasn’t been explained is how I look in the mirror? I mean we all do it at least once a day. We can’t leave the house with bed head, so how do I do it every morning? The answer is simple. If I do look in the mirror, I try and focus on details instead of looking at the picture all together. If I’m doing my hair, I will only look at my hair. When I’m brushing my teeth, I focus on that. The second I look at everything put together to form me, is when I get emotional. It’s when all the ugly, bad, horrible thoughts come torment me.
One by one, they have their moment to say how they feel. They pick on my frizzy hair, my acne filled face, my pointy nose, my dull eyes, the fact that I have not many people in my life because of my looks. Everything that can be said, is said. It feels as though everyone is coming up one by one to punch you, but you can’t do anything back. Why can’t I fight back? Because it’s true.