If cameras add “10 pounds” to your figure, then mirrors must add 20! Or at least, 15 pounds.
I have a deeply entrenched love-hate relationship with mirrors. Meaning … I love to hate them, and hate to love’em.
Mirror Mirror On The Wall
I’ve been told I have a mild form of body dysmorphia. I don’t believe them, but here I am. At one point in my early 30’s I was close to the best physical form I could muster. I wasn’t happy, but damn I looked good in a mirror or … in someone else’s eyes.
#MirrorMirroronthewall – I really want the mirror to say that I am handsome, and the best thing I can wear is a smile. Or at the very least, I am good enough.
Sigh. It does not. My inner demons crawl on my shoulder to cat-call me, taunt me.
First demon, “See that? That’s why you can’t keep a girl around. It’s a lie when you say you had different road maps!”
The other demon pipes up, “Look, LOS thinks he has broader shoulders than he did before. Ha, ha. He’ll haveta to try harder than that!”
I mentally shout, “I am my own worst enemy, but you two shut it! I’ve been handsome to some ladies, so that means it could happen again.”
Those demons sulk out of sight. They return when I have long periods between relationships. For example? Now…
Mirror, Mirror on the wall, don’t tell me who’s the fairest of all. I know damn well it’s not me. I just want you to say that one day I’ll look into you and only see me without body dysmorphia.
No inner demons in sight and perched on my shoulders.
Mirror, Mirror, I want you say that today, and every day forward you are happy, you are content, and you are enough for yourself. No one else matters.