The Shattered Mirror of Me – by Autumn Boyet-Stinton 10/5/2022

 

The Shattered Mirror of Me – Autumn Boyet-Stinton 10/5/2022

Jagged pieces of my psyche surround me, shattered at my feet and ankles.  A million mirrored bits that no longer make a whole. 

Each edge glimmering with the power to puncture, slice and slay, individually harming  in seemingly minute ways.  Yet combined, they drain from me life force.  A small seeping, that ever so slightly, weakens my spirit and taxes my soul.   

I am aware of this gradual depletion, this slipping of control, but I know not how to stop what seems to be the inevitable. 

And I am lost to myself. 


 Reflective pieces surround me and construe reality into something unfamiliar and unrecognizable to my own eyes.  Segments of me and my life peek back in broken pieces, confusing my reality, reflecting me in obscurity. 

There are glimmers of recognition, moments in which the reflections mimic reality.  Not quite in focus, never fully seen, they fade into obscurity as if a thinning fog.    

In a state of confusion, as my mind attempts to break the binds of emotional catatonia, I do not recognize the whole of me amidst the pieces. 

And I am lost to myself. 


 My instincts battle on internally, intrinsically knowing there is imminent danger in attempting to gather the bits - to frantically grab for all the pieces that need to be reassembled. 

For the risk of such an attempt clearly heralds further damage, a letting that may not be contained – a pouring out that will leave my sacred chalice dry.

I cannot wander.  I cannot search.  For such freedoms of self are restricted by the very reflections of myself, taunting me from the ruin accumulated and tormenting me about my feet.    

And I am lost to myself. 


 The reflective pieces of me have become fatal shards, lethal fragments that restrict and bind me.  For in one piece, I am deceived into recognizing a bit of myself and seize that mirrored perception only to find I have grasped nothing. 

I have filled my grip with nothing but air.  And yet, my flesh stings with the slice of a razor-sharp edge, a deep wound that becomes instantly numb. 

This numbness devours and leaves an emptiness that aches, a torment that somehow finds pain in the void – because the void is full of shattered mirror that reflects everything...and nothing. 

And I am lost to myself. 


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