In college, I went on a date with the son of my mother’s coworker. I couldn’t remember if his name was Jason or Justin, so I spent the entire night maneuvering my way out of saying his name. He... [+]
The me I know is a young women who is married to this “perfect” person, I have a college degree, and I work a nice day job and come home to a loving house that is beautiful and well cared for.
But in my reflection all I see is a shell of what a human used to be, but even that shell is shattered with bruises and scars. This reflection shows a crummy, decaying apartment that when you scream, people hear, but no one comes. This reflection shows a beaten up, sad, abused young women who married the “perfect person” because that’s what her parents told her to do. This reflection shows a young women who wants it to end, and knows that no one will care if she does. Not the school she works at, not the “perfect person”, and no one in this world will care if this reflection is gone.
This reflection shows who I am. I am no longer a young women with her college degree. I am no longer a young women that works at a nice day job, I work as a janitor. And I have never been a young women who comes home to a loving house that is beautiful and well cared for, all because of him. The “perfect person”.
But I still keep going, I keep on lying to myself. Because I know I deserve more than this, and I will keep trying to become more than this mess that I am. I look at the time, and it is now time to pretend to the outside world that I am a young women who has a college degree, that works at a nice day job, and someone who comes home to a loving house that is beautiful and well cared for. I smile, and so does the reflection. Looking pained, covered in bruises. I sigh and reach for the makeup.