kissing the mirror

now i know i am a narcissist. but that does not equal self-love, does it. this personality trait sabotages the moments of utter self-worship with times of utter despair and self-loathing. a recipe of extremes, an over-compensation of a lack that is intangible, unnameable. a mechanism that will self-destruct. only hear what i wanna hear, like the echos in the night.

this has a history. in my parents' house hung a full-size mirror smack in the middle of the entrance. when you walked in you saw your image reflecting back to you. a bit like your reflection pushing you right back out the door. but if you stayed, you would walk past it a hundred times a day. to get to your bedroom, back to the kitchen, into the livingroom. your twin always followed you. i took notice of it, yes. each time. my mother would take notice too. there she is, looking at herself in the mirror again! she would say with not just a little sense of sarcasm, or was it ridicule, in her baritone voice. i always felt ashamed, yet couldn't help myself. why the hell was this mirror there then? was i the only one looking at myself? in the bathroom i'd spend long periods of time staring at myself. brushing my hair. hissing through the crack in the door was my sister, oh the princessssss...

an unhealthy sense of self-love created by the shame of it, juxtaposed. one making the other more and more extreme. there is a mirror but don't look into it. you must look pretty but don't be full of yourself. mixed messages confusing my child's mind. now how to untangle it...