How I Know I Am Me

Excuse the very silly title, How I Know I Am Me, this is an essay I wrote for a job application. Posted here because I’m too lazy to write an original post now:

Shattered glass covers the floor as she looks at the blood flowing down her hand. The pain doesn’t feel real, it seems too theatrical to be part of the life of an ordinary girl. She reaches for the bandage that she had readily waiting and clothed her naked bloodstained hand in the skilled way she had practiced. While she walks over to her bed, which has become her solace in last few weeks, she feels the eyes of the photographs on the wall staring her down. The smiles that so many times used to comfort her now seem posed and fake, a cover-up for people’s true feelings.

The mirror was beautiful. Its presence made everything around it look drab and untidy. The silver frame which she polished weekly looked bare without glass to compliment its shine. She knew they would be angry, if they found out that she destroyed their gift to her but they should have paid attention to what was happening in their home.

She thought that not having to look at herself would make things better. Every time she saw her red and puffy eyes, she saw the eyes that have seen too much, her ears brought back memories of things that she wished she had never heard, words that have changed everything. Her nose, which seemed to overpower her entire face, screeched ‘ugly’, ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘strange’. Her lips, chapped from biting it when worrying, reminded her of the terrible things she said in retaliation. For once, she didn’t want to be forced to remember everything every time she walked into her room. She didn’t want it staring at her, framed in sparkly silver, telling her that things will never be the same again.

The idea came so suddenly that she could not believe that it took her this long to think of it. She needed to go back to how things were; she needed them all to love her again; she needed to feel like she belonged. She knew she had to make it right so that everything will go back to what it once was, starting with the mirror.

The mirror, with all its different pieces shattered around her room, seemed to represent all that had gone wrong in her life and she felt that in order to heal the pain she needed to restore the mirror to its former glory. The smell of glue, which seemed to move her every sense, reminded her  of the importance of this procedure and even though not all the pieces could fit back into the frame, the ones that did gave her a refreshed view of who she really was. Each of her facial features for once stood on their own and she saw eyes that have experienced pain but has the wisdom to learn from it; her nose which made her different, unique not ordinary; her ears which leant not to listen to hurtful comments and her lips which offered words of encouragement to others. She looked down at the beautiful mosaic of glass and through this cracked and distorted image she could finally see herself who she really was: imperfect, cracked but an original.

More about Caryn

Journalist, Reader, Dreamer, Fangirl, Defender of the Weak (and that's just my formal titles). I hope to one day take over the world or marry Tom Hiddleston.

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