The blur of being
I stare at the mirror.
I try to look at myself.
I don’t see anything.
I can’t see anything.
Where am I?
I run my fingers through the glass,
hoping to clear the reflection.
The fog doesn’t move,
it clings to the surface.
Searching for my eyes,
I wipe the mirror once more,
harder this time.
They’re not there.
I’M NOT THERE.
This has to be a dream,
more like a nightmare.
Fighting to remain calm,
I twist the faucet open.
Cold water runs down my face,
but it doesn’t bring me back.
I don’t understand.
I sprint out of the room, maybe,
a different perspective will fix it.
I scan the surroundings,
as if begging for a glimpse.
It serves no purpose,
no matter where I look,
the picture is blurry.
MY picture is blurry.
In an attempt to brush it off,
I don’t give it much attention.
I carry on with my day,
pretending to be okay.
Whatever is going on,
is not that important.
I’m fine, I have to be.
Who am I even tricking?
I’m out, so out of it.
Everyone cruises through,
I’m lost, fucking lost.
Nothing makes sense,
everything is clouded.
What did I do wrong?
I thought I knew better,
except I’m back to blank.
Right where I started,
like I never actually moved.
I’m supposed to be better,
to be stronger than this.
I did it.
I let myself slip away.
Giving up with my tasks,
I make my way home.
I sit down in bed,
I don’t fight it anymore.
Tears stream down my face,
not stopping for a while.
I’m sorry.
I apologize to no other than me,
for what I’ve put us through.
I didn’t mean to bring us here,
to cause this much pain.
It shouldn’t be so hard,
and yet again, we’re struggling.
I’m not sure I can forgive myself for that.
I press my head against the pillow,
my energy has suddenly vanished.
Crying subsides,
hurt doesn’t settle.
Mind still runs wild,
haunted by that image,
or the lack of it.
I should have bought a different mirror.
I take a few deep breaths,
grasping for whatever strength.
Once I build up enough courage,
I battle my body to my feet.
I gaze at the reflection,
confronting my distorted self.
Am I really just this?
I remove the mirror from the wall,
letting it rest on my hands.
I hated the idea of what I was,
more like what I wasn’t at all.
I finally break the silence,
not with words, with pieces.
I REFUSE TO BE NOTHING.
I watch the glass as it falls,
hitting the floor abruptly.
Fragments spreading all over,
some cutting through my skin.
I see it break, just like I did,
so many parts and no repair.
It can’t be fixed.
I CAN’T BE FIXED.
I grab onto my wrist,
blood dripping down.
I leave the mess behind,
stinging across my wounds.
I resented my blurry picture,
more than I expected I would.
You caused me pain.
I look at the broken pieces,
my broken pieces.
I don’t run away,
I sit with them instead.
Right in the middle,
I pick them up, one by one.
Why doesn’t it hurt?
I slowly gather the parts,
noticing they have changed.
Bits in which I see everything,
others where I see nothing at all.
I puzzle them back together,
a now patched-up mirror in place.
It actually feels okay.
Time suddenly stops,
I sink into the stillness.
I stare at the mirror.
I try to look at myself.
I catch a sight of a crystal clear spot,
my reflection greeting me with a smile.
Note from the author.
“The blur of being” is the space between wanting to be and not being. You aren’t because you don’t know how to be, nobody told you. If there’s even anything to be, that is. Maybe there is nothing to be, and that’s how it was always supposed to be.
Author: Luna Haack
Visual: Jordan van Herwijnen