Have you ever stared at yourself in a mirror? I’m not talking about a simple glance or a look. I mean a real, unending gaze. This is where it started for me. I was watching TV in bed, mindlessly flipping through channels. Some commercial about a Shirley Temple collection was on. Then, for no reason, I turned my head and looked at myself in the mirror. My room was dark, except for the pulsing colors from the tv. I started from about my chest and looked up into my eyes. But in the mirror, only for a split second, my eyes were still looking down, and then they caught up. 

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The fear I felt was something primal. I was too afraid to scream. But like a magnet I was drawn to my reflection. I shifted closer and stared myself in the eyes. They didn’t move anymore. I felt tears welling up, my body was shaking uncontrollably. But I couldn’t move my eyes. After some time, my face started warping. It’s hard to describe. My eyes moved down to my cheeks and sank into black pits. My arms lifted themselves into the air—my reflection controlled me now. 

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I saw my left arm bend backwards behind my back, while my right stuck out at an angle. It wasn’t a ghost or a demon making me do these things. That arm was pulling itself out of its socket, I could feel the bones and tendons straining in my shoulder. The colors from the tv coalesced into a foggy gray. I felt utter anger, despair, self-loathing—all through that reflection, that shadow. I was in that trance for almost 2 hours until my parents found me. That was my first episode.