Tag Archives: Self Image

Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror…Show Me Who I Am

Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror
Finish this sentence: “When I look in the mirror, I . . . “

When I look in the mirror…I see a stranger. I wrote and posted a poem about this not too long ago. A stalker in the mirror.

I would much rather see myself through others eyes. Ironic I know, because, do they not see the person I see in the mirror? Apparently not. To my knowledge no one has shrunk away from me in disgust.

Why do I think I am the Beast rather than Belle? I mean, yes, I am overweight, but there was a time in history that was the preferred stature. Weight aside though. I come from good breeding stock. (Dang, that makes me sound like I should be at the stock yard.) My parents are nice looking, is what I meant to say. My older sister, though two years apart have always been asked if they were beautiful twins, and then my younger brother, he could be GQ. The same blood and genes run through our veins.

My Granny used to tell me I had the perfect nose. Isn’t that funny? The perfect nose. My eyes. usually hazel, but they change colors not so,much with what I am wearing, but with my mood. When I am sad, very sad they are bright green, and when I am really happy they are really blue. I have not seen them blue in a long time. When you can see them, my cheek bones reflect some of the indian that my maternal Grandaddy had in him, too bad I did not inherit the ability to tan. I inherited the freckled fair skin of the german and irish ancestry of my maternal Grandmother. With all of that being said, I look just like my Daddy. There is no denying I am his Baby Girl.

I have his dark thick curly hair and the shape of my eyes similar to his. Our foreheads are the same.

I know I will not get over my self loathing anytime soon. I wish I would, but maybe looking at myself through different eyes. The eyes of a genealogy lover, I can realize I am a walking breathing piece of family history. I am the joining point of two families. I am the names that I look at so eagerly on the family tree. They are in my face, my features, their blood is in my blood, and some of their traits generation after generation have become mine.

Next time I go to a mirror, I think I am going to take a closer look and see who I see.


I Once Loved Roller Coasters


This morning is some better. I am still very anxious and depressed, but not teetering. I realize how many kind and good people read my blog, and they are going through a lot right now too. “Our community” helps one another when we are down. Kind words of encouragement, the reminder of the beautiful things in life and in me, virtual hugs, and a simple “like” they let me know someone is listening and cares.

I have my amazing family. I know the are weary. It is hard having someone you love with severe emotional problems. I could charter a club, I have been on the other side. Living daily, not knowing what to say or do, fear of triggering them. Fear of the backlash. Not knowing if the will be there in the morning physically or emotionally. Holding your tongue and swallowing your emotions, sacrificing your own mental health while they work on theirs. Crying more than laughing. I hate that I put anyone through this roller coaster.

Tagline Hope: Mirror Stalker

She is there, everyday.
I cannot remember the first time I noticed her.
Following me room to room,
house to house, store to store.
Reflection to reflection.

If I remember correctly, the first time I noticed her.
She was much younger.
Had a light in her eyes hazel eyes.
Long brown curly hair, not a gray in sight.
She smiled, sometimes even laughed and made silly faces at me.
What a pleasant girl.
Still, she followed me everywhere.
And copied me, oh how annoying.

As I grew older, so did she.
But, she aged much more rapidly than I did.
Poor soul.
Her eyes tell a story, secrets hidden.
I feel sorry for her,
Inwardly grateful, that I am not her.

I wish she would stop following me.
It has been years.
I am still somewhat young, but everywhere I go,
This lonely soul stalks me.
Grays in her hair, saddness in her eyes, overweight.
Please stop following me.
Once in a while I would like to see my reflection in mirror.

I wish she would make the silly faces she once did.
The faces that warmed my heart.
Letting me know she was okay.
But she does not now.

She seems trapped in the mirror.
Behind a glass wall of fears.
Years of depression and anxiety.
Ruling her life.

But I am still young.
I can help her.
Lead her to the fountain of youth,
Healing balms.
Showing her that she and life
Are beautiful beyond the glass.


Identity Theft

If you’re looking for a beautiful person that deserves to be loved and respected just take a quick glance in the mirror. You’re wonderful. – Terry Alex (Twitter)


Through the last several years, piece by piece, my identity has been stolen. No not in a legal sense, but in an emotional sense. I remember someone coming up to me a few years back and saying, “——– said you were so pretty before you and your husband were married.” This person had not been around me through all my struggles, she also had no idea that her words were like a stabbing sword.

Why would you say that to someone any way?

Aside from the chemical depression that I face, life storms happened and happened and happened. An adoption fraud, infertility, cancer and other not so minor health issues, financial problems, family drama, and now remembering my abuse. When you add all of that on top of the day to day minor ins and outs of life, my identity became submerged in the abyss. Why has my counteance changed? I wonder?

Most days I do not feel like crawling out of bed and changing clothes. My hair. The hair that was once everyone envyed and strangers stopped me on the street and complimented me about. It is always pulled back in a bun. Make up? Rarely. I remember once someone coming up to me asking if I was a hand model because my hands were always manicured. Not now. Jagged, some nails nervously chewed. I feel and look unkept all the time.

Really the only people I want to see are my family, they are my security. I make myself go to Church and feel better on the days that I can go. A spiritual boost. However, migraines often make it impossible to attend.

Please do not think I am whining. I just wanted to truly give you a peek in. When I say a peek, I mean a peek, there are so many things in a depressed and anxious persons life that are not pretty.

One day I will share, but for right now those suffering behind smiles please know you are not alone. For those that meet those smiles, be sensitive with your words. Words can hurt an already wounded heart.

Mormon Messages always seem to reach my soul. I particularly relate to this one today. it is called Your True Identity.