Room 307

Eisoptrophobia - Fear of mirrors or seeing one's own reflection

I sat there on the bed, my legs pulled close to my chest, head resting on my knees. It was the only way I could make myself comfortable in that impossibly uncomfortable room. How could anyone be comfortable in a room with blank, white walls, one window with drab white blinds, and stark white sheets on a stiff mattress. A stiff mattress on a cot. I didn't know how it could really be considered a bed. And who could forget the sterile, white tiles beneath the legs of the cot.

Room 307; my living Hell.

Whoever was the cruel soul who decided it would be a good idea to look me in this room needed to spend a week or two in it themselves. I would have been perfectly fine outside of that room. I would have survived out there. It would have been hard, but I would have. Then they decided to lock me up.

"The 300 wing is for our... special cases," I heard someone say on the other side of the locked door. A doctor or someone must have been giving a tour of the hospital.

"Like we're some sort of freak show!" I said hoping they would hear me. I rushed to the door and put my ear to it.

"She's a particularly interesting case."

"Hmph." I responded, returning to my cot.

I was not crazy. I was scared. And for that, they locked me up... until I was "cured."

I glanced at the clock on the table beside the cot. The glass cover had been removed, but the hands still circled the face of the clock. It was almost one o'clock. Already my limbs began to tremble. They would be coming in soon. It was my least favorite part of the day.

There was a soft knock on the door. They were early. Either that or the clock was slow. Both situations were possible, and neither were ones I was happy about.

"Miss Hall, are you ready?"

"It's Liz," I grumbled.

A clicking signaled the unlocking of the door. There were two people revealed in the hallway. My therapist was one of them. The other was there to help. Or, that's what the therapist liked to say. The fear began to kick in. I knew what was coming. I always knew. I should have been able to expect what happened every day, but everyday when the clock stroke one, I got scared again, because I knew.

"Now you know you have to face this, Miss H- uh, Liz. You cannot spend your entire life in fear."

"I'm not s-scared," I said unconvincingly.

"You're stuttering. It's a sure sign that you're scared."

"I c-could live a perfectly fine life outside of this p-place."

"No, Liz. You can't. You cannot spend every day avoiding yourself in the mirror, dodging reflections, removing anything and everything in your life that holds a reflection. You cannot expect that to be much of a life."

"I would have made it work."

"Think about it this way, Liz. If you can overcome this fear, you will be able to live a normal life! You'll be able to--"

"So you lock me in a room and--"

"If you want to get out of this room, look at yourself in the mirror." My therapist gave some sort of cue to the other person in the room.  The man pulled out a small hand mirror from inside his jacket.

"No! Get it away from me!" I screamed. The man held it out, reflective side down so that all I could see was the blue plastic back.

"Now do you see? It's okay."

"No... don't make me do this! This, this is h-horrible. I c-can't!"

"Liz, please."

"No! Don't turn it over. It's... I can't. She'll see me!"

I started shaking at the thought. Sweat began to bead on my brow. This was why I was scared. This was why I could not even bare to glance at the shiny glass in the man's hand as he slowly turned it over. A flash of light glinted across the smooth surface and shone onto the ceiling. Not even looking at it and my heart began racing. I could feel it pounding against my chest, fighting to jump out. My breath was catching in my throat as I saw that little beam of light reflect from the window, across the mirror, onto the ceiling.

"Stop it! You can't do this!"

"It's all in your head, Liz. You have to tell yourself that. It's not real."

After enough time of torture passed, they left, but not until after they left the mirror, face down, or the nightstand right beside the clock.

"Let's see if you can at least stand being near a mirror for a time."

Sitting on the bed, I could not help but feel like I was being watched. That small piece of glass behind me was looming over me, watching me, judging me, taunting me, because it knew that I couldn't stand it. It knew I was scared.

"She sees me," I whispered. "She sees me! She knows everything!"

She knows everything! She points out everything that's wrong with me! She points out all the flaws in me, all the mistakes I've made, everything that is wrong with me! She wants to scare me! She wants to take over my life! She's going to replace me! My reflection. She's always there!

In a fit of fearful rage, I swiped my hand back and flung the mirror across the room, allowing it to shatter when it hit the wall. Millions of shards of glass lay staring back at me, reflecting back at me, in that small, white room.

Room 307 was my living Hell.