I’ve feared mirrors since I was eight.94Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRbq1Fn6tEc
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It wasn’t just a childish fear — whenever I looked into a mirror, I felt like a stranger was staring back. Sometimes, my reflection moved a second too late. Other times, its expression didn’t match mine.
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The doctors called it Spectrophobia — fear of mirrors and the images they reflect.
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I removed every mirror from my room. I avoided hotel bathrooms, fitting rooms, even shiny windows. My fear followed me everywhere, unseen but heavy.
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But at twenty-five, I knew I had to face it.
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One night, I locked myself inside a dim, dusty room — alone with a tall, cracked mirror. The silence screamed around me.
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I stared into my own eyes.
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And I saw him — the version of me I’d always feared. Not a monster, just… me. The part I had buried under fear, shame, and doubt.
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That night, I didn’t run.
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I didn’t scream.
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I just… watched.
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And for the first time, my reflection smiled with me — not at me.
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🌈 Ending:
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The next morning, I hung a large mirror in my room.
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Because now,
I’m no longer afraid to see myself.
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