Around 2:00 am I broke my mirror, I was staring at my reflection and in an angry rampage slammed it down, causing it to hit my weight scale (dad put it in my room so he could clean my bathroom) and shatter. I stood there for about two seconds before falling to the floor and screaming. Took me around a full hour to compose myself enough to write everything down because I had given myself a cramp and my eyes are swelling. Even now my heart feels like it is breaking still and I can feel fresh tears welling up in my eyes.
Long story but here it is as short as I can make it....
The Story:
My mom, sister and I went to Arkansas for thanksgiving, like we do every year, and planned on leaving that same day. My mom had the whole weekend off (Thursday-Sunday) , this made me really happy because I never see my mom since she works two jobs and this meant she would be able to take me shopping (i.e. the only reason I was happy for her being off). That may sound selfish but my entire closet consists of hand-me-downs (clothes that belonged to my sister/mom before me) the things that were actually mine were things that I don't even like! Plus whenever I wear an outfit that everyone thinks is cute, it is something my sister picked out from her own closet. Anyway, of course the time came around to leave and she decides she wants to STAY, her excuse? She had gotten into yet ANOTHER big fight with my father and didn't want to face him and wanted to spend time with her mom and dad since she never sees them (mind you, she works two jobs, is home for maybe 30 minutes to an hour before she goes to bed and has maybe one day every other month where she is off all day from both jobs and even then she goes in to one of those jobs to get some hours, so she NEVER sees me either).
after about an hour and a half of debating if I wanted to leave with my sister or stay with my mom I hopped into the car and left, crying quietly and hiding my face the whole 3 hour drive. My mom had said she'd come home Friday and take me shopping, never came. She was going to come home Saturday, never came. Finally she was coming home today, Sunday, she and the family had gone to fucking Good Will (not that I think it is bad to shop there but every time my mom shops for me that is where she goes, just fucking more hand-me-down clothes). She comes home and expects me to bring all her shit in and so I do, she then shows me all the "glorious" clothes she bought.... ALL of which are either a disarray of stripes balancing different shades of pink and sparkly silver, simply striped, polka dotted, bedazzled, or something a 10-year-old in the 90's would wear like this:
(disclaimer:please forgive me if this is actually something you would wear)
While she was in Arkansas I sent her maybe about 16 or 17 photos of my particular style (mature fall-based attire and summer chic):
Fall-based attire:
Summer chic attire:
Anyways on with the story:
I sent her these photos, and she got me fucking clothes that look like some bedazzled clown from the 70's threw up on! She even had a shirt that had "70's" and "80's" stamped on it like it was some new hipster trend and was all like "I got you this just knowing you would love it because you love the seventies or eighties, well anyway it was one of those" I snapped my head up so fast and glared at her with every ounce of hate I could muster and spat "1800's--I said I liked the 1800's, the VICTORIAN ERA! YOU DON'T HAVE ANY CLUE WHO YOUR OWN DAUGHTER IS!" and then like the drama-queen I am I stormed out slamming the door behind me feeling overwhelmingly like I was betrayed.
Which leaves me to bring up the mirror, I was stressed from crying off and on about how my mother always ruins everything (usually when she shops for me whether I am with her or not she buys things that look like stuff she wears or stuff she wishes she could wear etc. claiming its something I said I liked even though I blatantly say I hate it) and I smashed the mirror.
This mirror is so symbolic and I did not even REALIZE it until those two seconds I stood there listening to the echoing sound of shattered glass tinkling to the carpet-covered floor. It symbolizes the beginning of my eating disorder, looking into it that first day my sister moved out, leaving it behind and poking at my stomach. It symbolizes my family, since my sister has had it since my brother still lived with us, since before all those moves, since before my parents declared divorce, since before I fell into this depression and my entire life became turmoil....before all that the mirror had been there. And in a flash of rage I broke it finalizing the fact that my life is falling apart at the seams and that in a matter of months everything I knew will be gone...
My parents will be in the process of getting a divorce, I will be out of school, I will be living in Arkansas with my mom in a house my Grandma is giving us while my dad stays behind wasting away from stress... and my friends will continue to grow more and more distant as if I never existed, the last threads of my memory being snipped away until nothing is left except the bitter taste of depression in my place.
I wish I could start at the beginning, with someone, tell them everything, every secret, every emotion and painful memory, everything I could never tell my many therapists (in which I only had each for one day), could never tell my friends or boyfriends in fear they'd worry or not care (or think something along the lines of me getting too personal and should be talking to a therapist not them), could never tell family. I feel like if I don't get it out soon, to someone, anyone...my heart will implode, and I will finally decide that nothing really is worth fighting for anymore.
and yes, this all started because of clothes.
.jpg)
