When I look at my mom, I see a reflection of me. A reflection of my depression. She is a walking mirror that reflects all the insecurities, I see in myself. The mirror she became, is the mirror that destroyed our relationship. It’s not a mirror she made, it’s one I made. I argue with her. But in reality I’m arguing with myself. When I see her, I feel unworthy of her love. But that’s just the mirror, just the thoughts I have about myself. I finally see that it’s me breaking us apart, not my mom who can’t understand my situation. Because she does. It’s me that hates myself so much, I assume everyone does.