I don't trust mirrors.
They don't show you the truth they show you what your mind wants you to see. And my mind? It's brutal.
Most days, I stare at my reflection like I'm meeting a stranger. Someone who looks familiar, sure but not quite me. Not the way I feel inside. Not the way I wish I looked. My face always seems off. My smile never looks real. My eyes always seem tired, even if I slept.
It's weird. You can live inside a body your whole life and still not feel like you belong in it.
I scroll through Instagram and see other guys my age clean jawlines, perfect skin, confident poses, likes in the thousands. Then I glance at myself and start counting flaws like it's a full-time job.
Hair's too messy.
Jaw's not sharp enough.
Not cool enough.
Just… not enough.
The mirror never says a word, but it screams louder than any voice in my life.
And when someone compliments me? I don't believe them. Not really. I smile, say thanks, but a voice inside whispers, "They're just being nice." I wonder what they'd think if they saw me the way I see myself raw, unfiltered, first-thing-in-the-morning kind of real.
The truth is, I've learned to perform. To dress in ways that hide what I don't like. To angle my selfies just right. To laugh loudly when I'm feeling small. People say I look fine. Normal. But they don't see the war that happens in my mind when I look at myself too long.
Sometimes I avoid mirrors altogether. Just walk past them quickly like they're ghosts I don't want to face.
But every now and then, on a really rare day, I catch a glimpse of myself when I'm not trying. Laughing with a friend. Lost in thought. Not posing, not performing. And in that moment… I look human. Not perfect. Not flawless. Just real.
Maybe the mirror doesn't lie all the time.
Maybe I'm just used to seeing myself through fear.
And maybe—just maybe—the person I keep trying to become is already there, under all the noise.