I wish I could call this a phobia, but apart from a phobia which have its roots deep imbedded in ones past, for me it comes when I think about the future. Why am I afraid to look in a mirror then? The answer is easy. I’m afraid that when I would look into it, my reflection would be something like the portrait of Dorian Gray (hideous and would reflect that part of me that I hate)… Should I stop looking in the mirror then?
That could be a big mistake because I always think the mirror is the best way to look inside your true self, the one hidden from the others; that ‘Je ne sais quoi’ which differentiate us. We are forced though, to hide that unique touch because we live in a uniformed world where only one cult I do not care is promoted and where diversity is gradually eliminated. Unfortunately I don’t see myself like an exception from that rule because I’m struggling to keep the look of a teenager with problems who doesn’t care about anything but himself.
To be honest I’m quite happy when my role play is applauded at on a large scale (when I manage to pass by being one of the others). Maybe you would consider that hypocrisy but in my view is just a façade in order to relatively blend in a society without principles where sex is the power play of each day.
Here I start to differentiate myself from others because I don’t feel the need to talk about sex every free second of my empty schedule and I like to replace those discussions with a subject less used like literature, but the so called dialogue turns into a monologue, and I get to be again the eternal observer of a decaying world. They say what you’re afraid of you never get away, Eh! I myself cope with that rule of being (if you can call it that way). But then is the person who’s looking back at me when I glare in the bathroom’s mirror every morning with the same cold jaded eyes (the colour which for me is as close as it gets to depression) and whose struggling to get away from the mediocrity; too bad I don’t know anymore which side is the mask and which is the true -me-.
I am guilty though of coping to the mediocrity and of living the loser teenager dream who doesn’t care about anything, unfortunately this doesn’t come out as well as I want to, other hypocrisies I guess, name them whatever you want to, but I ever intended to live that dream, in a way is nice to blend with the crowd and pretend everything is good. The difference is the portrait from the bathroom mirror that was supposed to be a constant reminder of what I should be; fails, and I stay the same, with too many ideas and the incapacity to adapt to the world. The portrait managed to change something though, the desire to change the world.
Then I have to think: ’Shall I shatter the mirror’?
