BLACK M1RR0R by michael whitty

...

I’m starting to think that everyday is the same. They bleed and mesh into each other
like that one pink sock in the wash with white shirts.
I never have the energy to really complete each day. The more and more it goes on, the
less I give a shit. And everyone wants something from me. Whether that be to call them
or to write a “8-10 page essay” on the business of ancient Egyptian bartering. This is
not what I signed up for. I know its not what anyone signed up for, but today I looked in
the mirror—like actually looked into the mirror—I saw myself.
I am tired.
I am burning out… but I still see the face of a person holding on.
I wouldn’t be here writing that essay, memorizing this monologue, talking here with you
if I didn’t want this. And God, I really fucking do, but… living behind a computer
screen, inside of this tiny box.
I don’t want it anymore.
I crave human connection beyond something digital.
I want to run around the city with my friends,
I want to be able to travel,
I want a career on a stage—not a career behind a screen.
And whenever I do decide to go outside and see people, see the world--everyone is
guarded and hidden behind a mask. The only real connection I can get now is from the
eyes of a stranger.
And while you can tell a lot about a person from their eyes, I think like text messages
you don’t always know the intentions without seeing someone’s face. Not just the
eyes--the entire face.
You know what that’s like don’t you? Yeah, I’m sure you do. I’m sure we all do.
But hey, look in the mirror.
Have you ever really looked at yourself?
Just check in and really see yourself as you are in this moment.
I think it’s so easy to get caught up in how we feel on the inside, but how do we feel on
the outside?
I’ve always taken advantage of a mirror,
but this black mirror staring back at me
—it's taken advantage of me.