Self Loathing

gripping the sides of the mirror, knuckles white, staring at my reflection— how has this self-loathing spread like a venomous infection? body shaking, bracing myself for the mental impact, but it always comes least expected, to knock me off my feet in the opposite direction. to look at my reflection, to see the darkened face smiling at me with malicious intention. I blink, and then I’m strapped down, hands tied to the arms of a chair, my own self standing there, staring back at me, ready to make me shake with fear. she starts to laugh, manically. you can see in her eyes— she wants me to bleed, she wants me to destroy every fragment of the good left in my self-being. but as I start to hyperventilate, the world starts to twist— sick thoughts screaming in my head: should I cut my wrists? should I lock myself in a room, to never be found again? the deafened sounds of silence bring me peace, no doubt. I’m waiting for the good to seep through the dark cracks, the light to shine so bright it makes up for what I lack. but there I stand, stranded— lost in the what-ifs and broken dreams of my past. dwelling is a thing that still rings in my brain— this self-loathing comes from past-tense pain