Looking in the mirror is a freaking nightmare these days. I hate it all. I don’t think i’ve always been like that. I mean, it’s not like i’ve loved how people looked at my hair before, but it got to a point that I wish I could peel my skin off. It’s confusing when looking at the mirror when I can’t sleep, two conscious show up. One tells me that I’m resistance, that my skin glows because my ancestors bathed in gold. This one tells me I should walk in my own body, with wide hips, full lips and thick thighs, and walk with confidence. But the other... oh the other. It lies, that one. It reminds me of the shame of going in for job interview and getting that look when they looked at my shades. The laughing, the joking, the racism against my hair. The relation I’ve had with my body got worse since these past months. This conscious has been around much more than the one that tells me that this is bullshit and I should be proud of living in my shoes, because surviving as a black muggle-born young woman is already a reason to be proud. Shit, I don’t even feel like opening up with my boyfriend. I’ve set walls and walls around me. No one gets in. And I won’t get out. I wanna be protected by not getting in touch with anyone. I wanna shut me out of the world and never open the door anymore. The image in the mirror is crying again.
