Past the Past

I stood, staring, my big eyes glossy, in front of the mirror. My thick dark curls fell in ringlets to frame my pale face; their brown ends lapped at my shoulders and swathed around my neck, tickling my skin. I didn’t like it, not one single bit. I guess curls where pretty, to some people, but for me, it was memories. Memories that, I guess, I wanted to forget. OCD. Just three letters, but so very powerful. I still don’t know why they capitalize that word. Why would they, when they could be taunting all the sufferers out there like me? You don’t capitalize monster; you just don’t. It’s bad emotional grammar, that’s what it is.

“Hey.” I heard my mom’s voice. “Breakfast.” I turned reluctantly away from my thoughtful reflection, who jerked away most rudely in return. My hand fell on the smooth, glistening doorknob; I tipped back my head one last time to glance at myself. It was frowning.

I frowned back.