[ WP ] You have two very different personalities , and control switches every time you see your reflection .

Every morning, I look into a mirror. The one on my dresser, table, floor, hallway. 
 
 Every night, I look into the mirror hanging above my bed, gaining conciousness just as the heavy fog of sleep cascades over my body. I take control only to dream and wake up. If I try to leave the room, I'll look into a mirror. 
 
 That is what my sister does to me. She has always been the colder one. 
 
 I do n't know how she makes it out of this room without waking me. All I know is that one day, I woke up here, and now I watch my body grow older in the flicker of surprise every morning before my world fades out. 
 
 She leaves knives on the floor, bricks scattered haphazardly over the room. I've given her many a bloody foot getting myself out of this prison. 
 
 People used to tell me that they thought my moods were odd. That they liked this me better, not the other me. 
 
 If I asked them to describe her, they'd tell me to seek psychiatric help. Did n't I know how alien I was? That me, I was told, could watch a child get run over by a truck and laugh. She schemed for everything. 
 
 I've never dated. I've always been afraid of revealing people I love to her. She'd use them against me, leave them tied up by their feet with the only pair of scissors in a box made entirely of mirrors. She'd never let them go. I tried to think like her, back when we thought to unify, but feeling so much hate in my heart made me sick to the bone. 
 
 Like she plans on never letting me go. I do n't know what the world outside is like anymore. How would people react if they saw my face? 
 
 I've been thinking, the past few months. About the purpose of my existance. 
 
 Keeping my eyes closed, I stand up on the cool glass floor. 
 
 I do n't want to live like this. 
 
 I kneel on my hands and knees, hands searching for something sharp. Questing fingers grab a hilt. 
 
 Aiming for the wrist, I stab downwards- 
 
 -- -- 
 I've found myself looking at one of the inner perimeter mirrors again, a rubber knife leaving a trail against my skin. 
 
 That useless, suicidal fuck. 
 
 Closing my eyes, I say, `` the ghost has vacated the premises.'' 
 
 A siren sings, and the floor decends under my feet. 
 
 Footsteps walk toward me, masterfully avoiding the scattered garbage on the floor. `` Hi honey,'' a voice smiles somewhere above. I'm led off of the floor and another alarm trills, quietly this time, as the mirror is suctioned back into its orginal position. 
 
 I open my eyes to see those of my darling husband staring at me. She, I think, missed out. She'd never wanted to date. She was too busy hating ourself. `` How was it this time?'' 
 
 His voice is warm. He has a little makeup mirror tucked into the pocket of his plaid shirt. My ghost thinks the world revolves around making everyone happy. Me, I think it's only worth it for the people who make you happy in return. 
 
 `` She's going for the suicide method again, as I predicted. We'll have to move the night-table mirror next time.''
