text: I had been lost and alone for a year and a half. Depression, abuse, the premature death of a loved one, and job hunting all seemed to hit me like punches in a boxing ring where I wasn't even wearing head gear. The weeks were the loneliest to get through but each Friday and Saturday brought alcohol's warm and gentle embrace rocking me to sleep. Sometimes if I got lucky, I might even find a warm body to fall asleep next to. Unfortunately, most girls left by the time I woke up. Worse still, the ones that stayed were always different from the way I remembered the night before. On the surface I was a well read, 29 year old man in his prime, but behind closed doors I fought hard with my demons and didn't dare ask friends for help. I didn't want them to think of me as weak because I thought of myself as strong. The friend who has been through a lot, who always overcomes obstacles and whatever life throws at him. Yet each Monday morning I woke up more tired. I lost a bit of my fight every Sunday that I regained consciousness. Hungover, lonely, and anxious about the week to come until I was drifting, directionless. More nights alone, feeling increasingly lost, more punches coming from the world, until I lost the last of my will to fight back. It was that day I saw the boy staring back at me in the mirror. He was me, or a version of me. He looked...smaller? Angrier? Or even weaker? Some days he hurled insults, throwing words at all the places he knew would hurt the most. "You'll never make it past the first round of interviews, you're too dumb for this job." Some days he would laugh at my attempts to style my hair, or the 5th shirt I'd tried on getting ready. "It doesn't matter, not like you're going to impress anyone today looking like that." Other days he didn't even look me in the eye, just at the ground dejectedly. "You should just go back to bed, don't bother trying to do anything today. Its all hopeless. It won't ever get better for you." The worst days were when he stared straight at me, wide eyed with hate. The days like this one. "Nobody will ever love us, love you. I don't care how many miles you run or how many books you read. I don't care if you have 6 pack abs, rippling arms, or boulders for shoulders. I don't care how great your job is or how much you get paid. I don't care where you volunteer, or what new hobbies you take up," he sneered with contempt. "I don't care if you discover that there really is a God and a heaven you end up in. I don't care what exotic places you vacation, which city you move to. ***I will always be with you. Because I know. I know that no matter what, it will never be good enough and neither will you."*** Every ounce of intensity of the anger I held back every day screamed, "I HATE YOU!". Still, my anger remained. I stormed out of the bathroom away from that damned mirror, then ripped another mirror off my bedroom door, and I paced back and forth in my room. Within 30 seconds I had changed into running shorts and I ran out the front door. The heavy metal was blaring through my headphones as I ran, trying to hurt the ground by striking my feet into it as fast as I could. By the time I came back down I was finishing an 8 mile loop. I walked inside, tore off my sweat covered shirt, and I laid on the ground. I stared at the white ceiling until exhaustion overtook me. I woke up the next morning on the wooden floor, shivering. I picked myself up and got into a hot shower, sitting down in the tub until the hot water ran out. Afterwards I got into bed and didn't move for the rest of the day. I felt empty and exhausted, yet there was something else there. Something small and intrusive. It reached out to me as if I were hearing a whisper from a great distance or a single breeze in the otherwise still air. I had fought back. It's been 2 years since that day I fought back. I didn't fight back every single day after that. Some days the boy in the mirror won, sometimes he even followed me on my runs. Some days I saw him in my dreams, or in the faces of friends that were having a joke at my expense. I heard him in all the rejections personal and professional. I saw him in each failure. But other days I won. I fought back, ignored him, beat him, or silenced him even if for a few hours. I met a girl, I fell in love, we moved in together. I got a new job I actually liked doing, and they paid me pretty well. I read everything I got my hands on and even published my own novel. I volunteered to pack lunches for the homeless. I ran a full marathon. I traveled to new and exciting places sometimes alone and sometimes in good company. But none of these things made the boy in the mirror go away. One day as I was getting ready I noticed something. The boy in the mirror hadn't opened his mouth in over a week, he just sat there looking weakly at the ground, his knees tucked to his chest. He looked skinner than normal, malnourished. Should I feel victorious right now? He did look like me after all, and he looked so sad. So alone and in need of a purpose? Something to do? A friend? And so I sat down. He still refused to meet my eyes. "I.." "Shut up. Just shut up okay? I don't need your pity. I don't need you or your help or anyone. I never did and I never will, so leave me alone." "Well, you never left me alone so it only seems fair." "..." "You know you've been following me around for years making me feel like shit, and I don't even know your name" "I don't really have *one*." "Everybody has a name, even asshole reflections." "I have a *few*. Some people call me Tim, others Anx, or Furo." "What the hell kind of names are those?*"* "They're Latin, and they're short for stuff. Timor, Anxietatem, Furorem." I rolled my eyes, "In English?" He glared back, "Fear. Anxiety. Anger." "...Why did you say those things anyway?" "Because I hurt. And I wanted you to hurt too. I wanted someone else to feel this." We sat there for a few minutes, neither one saying anything, both looking at the ground until I finally croaked out, “I'm sorry." "You-*what?* Sorry? **Sorry??**" His eyes glowed with hate. His fists balled up. "I'm sorry. I know that its hard. Its not fair, and sometimes it feels so bad that the only way to make the bad feel less is to give some of it to someone else." The hate faded, tears welled in his eyes, and his knuckles relaxed. I continued, "So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you had to carry that all these years. I'm sorry that it made you tired, and hopeless, and sad. I'm sorry that its easier to be alone by rejecting people before they reject you. I'm sorry that sometimes you even push people away that you want to stay. But most of all I'm sorry that you felt you had to do it alone." The boy in the mirror started to fade. He looked down at his hands, terror in his eyes. More tears started to well in them. "What, no! Wait! Stop it please! Please don't leave me!" He cried as he shimmered and faded away. I looked into the mirror, into my eyes, and said, ***"I won't leave you. I never will and never could. I will carry you and sometimes you will carry me. Because I know. I know that no matter what it could get better. I know that one day it might be good enough, and so will you.