The Broken Mirror

Family Portrait

I strum my fingers on the guitar to get the correct key. I begin to hum and feel the melody that I want my original song to sound like. I hear a big band playing in my head and I write down the notations for the instruments I hear in my head. I hear brass instruments, piano, violin, everything. Different melodies play in my head for each of them and I write down what each one is telling me they want me to say. The story it wants me to tell.

That is the easy part. The hard part is what will my voice say. The instrument that lives within me. My roommate tries to stay out of the room a lot. I miss crazy Kline; she would have been sitting here trying to help me figure this out. This chick acts like someone shoved a stiletto up her ass. She hates when I start songwriting, but I could care less about her feelings.

Now I just need some lyrics. What do I want this song to say? What is the story it needs to tell? I wrote a bunch of love songs about Xavier, but this one, the song I hear in my head is not about love. It's about myself. I nibble at my lip and stare at the notepad wishing for the song to just jump off the page, but all I have is music notations for the different instruments. I know how I want it to sound.

Music is about capturing our spirits. The very things that make us tick. I think because there is so much confusion about me, who I am, I cannot put it to paper. The conflict that rises in me about who I see myself as compared to who I want to be is making this impossible. So, I sit here frustrated. Frustrated with myself, because with the amount of progress I have made, I am still not happy with who I am.

I see a monster, a demon, that sucks the life out of all that is good. I cannot help myself, at one point I did not care that I was this person, but now. I have things to lose, something I did not realize until I lost my sister. I reveled in who I was. You can't revel in things that eventually destroy those you love. All that happens is you bear the guilt of said destruction.

I push the guitar to the side, feeling quite defeated. It's time for what I have been dreading. Family therapy. My whole family is here for it. I get off the bed and walk to Dr. Bryce's office. I take a deep breath and enter the room. My family is already seated in there. I hug and kiss my father, Cookie, and Apollo. I don't even look at my mother, who never makes eye contact with me.

Dr. Bryce has us positioned in a circle. I sit between her and Apollo. Cookie sits on the opposite side of Dr. Bryce, while my mother sits next to Cookie. My father is in the middle of Cookie and Apollo. My heart is pounding because I don't want to know what will happen today. It could be even worse than last time.

"The plan for this week is to uncover and disarm Siren's triggers," Dr. Bryce announces to them. They all, but my mother nod their head looking at each other. "If we can get to the root causes, she'll be ready for outpatient and can go home. So, I need cooperation from everyone."

I look at my mother finally. I can tell she sees me staring at her, but she does not acknowledge me at all. This is going to be a long week. I stifle a groan of frustration.

"Dr. Price, I'd love to hear about your story. Help me piece together things," she asks my grandmother. Cookie's face turns white, which is odd for her. She's usually strong and self-composed. She looks at Dr. Bryce as if she's not sure if she's able to speak yet. "Speak when you are ready."

Cookie nods her head. She takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. "I don't talk much about my life, especially my early years," she begins. She is telling the truth. I know everything about her after she married my grandfather, but nothing before. "My mother was a maid and my father worked construction. I grew up lower-middle class in Brooklyn. My father was a hard man. Filled with rage most of the time, especially when he would have a hard time finding work. He was... he was a functioning alcoholic."

We all look at her in shock of this revelation. We stay quiet, so she can continue. "I wanted so badly to get out of that home. He made our lives hell. So, I was determined to finish high school and go to college. I went to NYU. Even, though they lived nearby, I refused to live at home anymore. Then he died while I was in college..."

"I had to take a year off to help my mother with my siblings. It was a brutal year, too. He had so much debt, and I had to start working to help her. When I went back to school, I had to continue to work and I... I began to drink when I needed to calm down. Eventually, I found myself drinking every day until I went to school and work drunk. I almost failed school and I got fired."

I think all our eyes are popping out of our faces at this very moment, except Dr. Bryce. "Wait, why didn't you tell us any of this? Tell me!" I ask her. She stares me dead in my eyes, and her eyes scream she's sorry.

"I don't know. Not proud of it," she answers. She looks down at her hands. I am so confused because this does not sound like the woman who has been a part of my life.

"How did you get sober?" Dr. Bryce asks Cookie. While looking at her hands, she slowly begins to smile.

"I had this very annoying roommate who kept trying to invite me to church. One day I took her up on her offer. I had never experienced anything like it. When they had the altar call, I went up, and the pastor prayed with me. I confessed my issues with alcohol and the pastor, and his wife kept me at their house for months. I was never the same after that," she tells Dr. Bryce. Her smiles get bigger. "I married their youngest child."

"Grandpa's parents brought you to God?" I ask her.

With a massive smile on her face, "Yup, Pastor Kingston Price the second. Your grandfather being their only son, the third." I cannot help but look at her differently. I am not angry she did not say anything. All this time and she struggled with addiction, too.

"But I've seen you drink," I say realizing she will have a glass.

"I nurse a cup of wine in social settings, never anything hard. I did not build up that willpower until recently. I usually take a couple of sips, but I don't crave it, but that might have more to do with the big man upstairs," she tells me. "If I can never pick up another bottle again, so can you. We had your mom and her sister. We had a good life. I made a lot of mistakes before I got sober. I had been arrested a couple of times, was always fighting, but I never allowed it to destroy me."

"Mom, I wish we had known this," my father says to her.

"Thank you, Dr. Price, Mr. Alexander, can you share?" He nods his head to her. My father begins and I can't help but stare at Cookie with wonder. Nothing about her screams she went through any of that. She is so poised. She had a happy marriage with my grandfather. She was the best mother and grandmother. Her patients loved her and she's one of the top professors at my school. I look at her and I see hope...hope for me.

When my father, finishes, Dr. Bryce, allows Apollo to go. He begins telling her about how absent our parents were. A similar story to my father's. He begins complaining about how now my mother hovers and feels like she is suffocating him.

"So, you went from never being there to constantly being there?" Dr. Bryce asks my mother. She glares at Dr. Bryce.

"Are you saying I smother my son?" She responds. Dr. Bryce shakes her head no.

"I am about to be eighteen in a couple of weeks, and I have this tracker on my cellphone. I still have a curfew and you don't know how to knock."

"He's a little too old for those things and you definitely need to knock," Dr. Bryce says to my mother concerned.

"How about you don't tell me how to raise my kids?" My mother snapped while crossing her arms. Dr. Bryce relaxes in her chair and gives my mother an insincere smile.

"Mrs. Alexander, I am not telling you how to raise them. However, he's about to be an adult. He needs freedom, even to make mistakes," Dr. Bryce advised my mother.

My mother's face turns to stone as she stares at the doctor. "I cannot afford any more mistakes," she says in a cold tone. She looks as if they could shoot daggers that will not miss.

"I get that, but hovering doesn't stop the mistakes from happening. If anything, it causes the same mistakes to occur and he won't know how to handle them as an adult."

"Like Siren knew how to handle things like an adult?" My mother asked, finally looking at me. The same stare she gave Dr. Bryce, she now gives me, as if she could kill me right here. I roll my eyes at her.

"I didn't have adult figures to show me how to deal," I answer flatly before my doctor could even respond.

"Do not speak to me."

"Woah! Okay. Before this escalates to anything further, I will call today over. You are all, except Siren, dismissed," Dr. Bryce instructs. They all begin to collect their things. "Mrs. Alexander, I want you an hour before the family session with Siren, tomorrow. Just you."

"Why?" My mother asked in the same cold angry tone. My father steps to her and places his hand on my mother's shoulder.

"I'll make sure she is here," he tells the doctor with a nod of his head. My mother shoots him a look and he raises both of his eyebrows challenging her. She quickly looks away from him annoyed, knowing she will lose whatever fight they are having.

"Thank you." My mother walks out of the room, not being able to bear another second in this room. The rest of them come and hug and kiss me for the day before they leave. They walk out and as soon as the door closes, Dr. Bryce is focused on me. "So, mom has to be one of the triggers."

"You got that from a few minutes with her?" I ask her sarcastically. She ignores my sarcasm.

"I watched you tense up the moment she opened her mouth," she tells me.

"I told you, she hates me."

"Hate is a strong word," Dr. Bryce tells me, relaxing back into her chair. I stand up from mines and think about the last time I saw my mother. I pace for a moment. I stop and look at her.

"Not in those words, "I tell her. "But she told me I was a waste. I asked if she couldn't handle giving birth to a monster and she said yes," I look away from her, ashamed about the next thing I need to say. "...and I lost it and attacked her."

Dr. Bryce sits silently for a moment. I can tell she is watching me. "Why'd you ask her that?" I hear her say. I turn my head and look at her confused.

"What?"

"I am not blaming you or anything, I just want to know why you would think to ask her that? Let me understand what you were thinking at the time," she gives me a small smile. The kind with her lips still closed. It's reassuring like she knows I am about to have to dig within myself to understand why I would ask my mother that.

She is right. Why would I ask her? What drove me to need to know this? I walk over to the chair that my father was sitting in, facing Dr. Bryce. She waits patiently for my reply. "I knew she felt that way about me."

She nods her head. "Is that really the reason? Or is that how you view yourself?" I shrug my shoulders. I would not feel like this if my mom did not make me feel this way. At least that is how I viewed it. "You asked her that, not just because you believe she believes that, but because you believe that. Her believing that would have no power over you if you didn't think that about yourself."

Damn doc, expose me why don't you? How could I not believe that about myself though? "My sister is dead because of me."

"Let's go over the facts of that night. I read the police report and all the documents on the case. When the ambulance came to pick up you and your sister, you were both still alive. She had broken bones in several places and only needed surgery. You were dying. You had been impaled by a long skinny rod through your right side. They were expecting you to die, but somehow you held on.

"Then your sister doesn't survive a surgery that's simple and someone her age should have survived it. Seventeen-year-olds don't go into cardiac arrest unless there is an underlying issue..." She states. I think over what she is saying to me. Nothing in my sister's stuff tells about the fact that she abused Adderall or was bulimic. To them, she unexpectedly died, and they did not know why really.

"She was a bulimic for years. When we got to high school, she started using Adderall so she could study all night and stay skinny. She had mountains of junk food underneath her bed. She suffered from her demons a lot longer than I did. Our mother put a lot of expectations on us, I didn't care about living up to them. It was my father whose opinion I cared more about," I explain to her.

"Your mom does not blame you," she tells me. "My job is to analyze people. That is a woman filled with guilt and probably her own secrets. She knows she was absent and feels like if she had been more attentive, maybe your sister would still be here. Maybe you wouldn't be suffering right now. You both are reacting to guilt, but that is just my own professional opinion."

We sit for a moment. Guilt. An emotion that can cripple. The name of the demon that rules me. Even now, as she tells me this, it's yelling at me. "But I destroy everything I touch."

Her reassuring smile appears on her face. "Siren you don't destroy everything. If you want any freedom, you need to change how you view yourself." She gets up out of her chair and walks over to her desk. She opens a drawer and pulls out a beautiful handheld mirror. She then pulls out the glue and a permanent marker. She walks back over and hands me the glue and mirror.

She begins breaking the mirror. "I have an exercise that I want you to do tonight," she breaks it into six massive pieces. "Write down what you WANT to see when you look at yourself in a mirror on each broken piece of glass and then put it back together. You've had a long day, skip everything except the meals. You are going to need to really self-reflect."

She hands me the mirror. I look down at the cracked mirror. My reflection distorted because of the cracks in the mirror. A broken mirror. Being a mirror twin, I don't know how on point this, but it was like looking at exactly what I was, a broken mirror. Now she wants me to put it back together with what I want to be.

I tell her bye as I walk back to my room. I open my door to find that thankfully my roommate is not there. I place the stuff she's given me onto the desk. I decide to change into my dance clothes. I need something that is not mentally stimulating. If I am going to work on that mirror, I need to dance, I need to be able to figure out who I am, and dancing allows me that.

I start What A Wonderful World. I hadn't played the song in weeks, completely, frustrated with myself. I did not dance at first. I listen to the words with my eyes closed. Guilt, Dr. Bryce said. It's been the emotion to trigger me, and I knew it, I just did not want to admit that I felt guilty. Guilt is suffocating. It's a feeling that I would not wish on my worst enemy.

I opened my eyes and look at myself in their mirror. That's why I could not stand the girl I saw before me anymore. Yes, I thought I was beautiful, but I saw a girl full of guilt. Guilt for driving the car. Guilt for kissing Tyler and my sister dying without me apologizing. Guilt for causing my family to have to mourn for my sister. Guilt for suffering from addiction. Worst of all, I felt guilty because I failed the little girl who used to dance to this song, with wonder.

Would the Siren I was at five years old even recognize this Siren. As a child, you never think that life can go wrong. You grow up with all these hopes and dreams, and you don't expect things like drugs, eating disorders, mental illness, or death, to disrupt your life. I stare at myself and walk over to the mirror and I swear I see myself as that five-year-old.

She had big green eyes that were filled with joy. Her imagination knew no bounds. Her hair was always in a red bun, ready to dance. The hairs on the sides would never stay perfectly in the bun, but Calypso's did. Freckles big and fresh on her little sweet face. She was fearless. She was victorious at whatever she did.

I remember that year. The year I started kindergarten. I was so proud of who I was. I used to introduce myself with my entire name. My father used to tell me what my whole name meant, so I could be proud of who I was. I felt it described every aspect of who I was. Siren, beautiful, and talented. My singing voice already angelic. My last name, Alexander, I used to defend people. It came with my attitude. I hated bullies and defended those who needed defending.

Then there is that mysterious middle name. It was not mysterious that year, but once I got made fun of for it by my classmates, I refused to say it anymore. It meant 'victory.' Nike. She was the goddess of victory and I wore that name like a badge of honor. I walked around like I was that goddess. Kindergarten was the first hit at my self-esteem. That was when I became Siren N. Alexander. I did not want to be called a sneaker, again. I swore that year, not to give a damn about what people thought of me.

I backed away from the mirror smiling. She was stilling looking at me. It was like she was ready to say goodbye and I was ready to say goodbye to her because I knew. I could never be her, again. She was innocent. I was not, but all those things she was, I can still be, but guilt keeps you from those things. "I'm going to stay clean for you," I told her. Her eyes lit up and she disappeared, and my adult reflection returned.

Satchmo still singing what must have been the tenth playthrough of the song. I began to do the choreography I learned when I was five. It had been a simple dance, but the last few weeks I couldn't do it. My heart was not in it, and that was because I yearned to be that little girl. No matter what happens in life, we cannot go back. We can only go forward, and it's in that forward motion that we can decide to let guilt eat at us or stand victorious over guilt's annoying ass.

My body moved to the song as if I had just learned it. I felt weightless for the first time. A feeling I have not known for a long time. I am beautiful, not just on the outside, but inside. You cannot suffer from guilt if your heart does not mourn the things you have done. Mourning is a sign of a conscience.

I am talented. I wanted to use those talents to make this world beautiful. It's a desire that I almost gave up on, but allowed to walk its way back in. The arts are a necessary expression of human life and it's up to me and others to express what it means to be human. I think of this as my feet leap across the room, flying, gravity never being a barrier for me.

I want to be a defender. I want to be that little girl again, who punched a bully in their face for pushing down one of my classmates. This girl who has suffered through addiction and know that there are people in this world who are cruel or look at us like we are a waste. We are the underdogs, and we need people to defend us. I can be one of those people.

I am a goddess. My parents did not name me by accident. I don't believe that I should be worshiped, but respected. I need to respect who I am. I need to respect who I want to be. I will be victorious because I am the goddess of victory. I will triumph over this, not because my family needs me to, not because my friends need me to, not even because Xavier needs me to. I need me to.

The song ends and I go over to the iPod and turn it off. I need to work on the mirror. I wipe off the sweat, determined to put myself back together. I almost run back to my room, ready to do the assignment Dr. Bryce gave me. My roommate is still not there. I look at the broken mirror on the desk we share. I sit down and look at the pieces.

I write down each word on each different piece. Beautiful. Talented. Defender. Goddess. Victorious. I glue them all together, but there is a piece missing. I am all these things, but what out of all these things do I want to see. I knew my purpose since I was young, but I never knew love, until recently.

My family and friends have rallied around me. I have not had to suffer alone. I never had to wake up alone in a hospital, again. My father and brother have visited me while I was locked up. Then there was Xavier. If he could, he would take away all my suffering, that is love. He told me he loved me, yet somehow, I don't feel as loved.

I know that sounds crazy, I have all these people who have expressed their love in some form to me, and yet I cannot even feel it. It's the guilt. I felt undeserving of it all. It is why my mother can get up under my skin. I felt like she saw me for who I truly was. Yet, Dr. Bryce says my mother sees something totally different. I don't know what she sees, but I know what I see.

The piece missing was huge and needed to be placed in the center. She said what I wanted to see. I want to see someone who is unconditionally loved. I have put conditions on even loving myself and it's been a hindrance. I cannot accomplish any of that without it. I cannot be beautiful, talented, a goddess, a defender, or victorious, without love. Pure love. So that's what I write on the last piece.

I glued the remaining piece to the mirror and hold it up. I see myself with those words. Now I understand the assignment. She wanted me to see myself differently, not through the eyes of guilt. Not through the eyes of an addict. Without seeing myself this way, I probably would be back in here soon. Not able to cope, or I would be dead. I wonder if this is how my grandmother succeeded?

I place the mirror back down when my roommate enters the room. We don't say anything to each other continuing to ignore each other. I go through the rest of the day with those words in my head. I cannot wait to give her the mirror in the morning.

The next morning, I do my usual routine. Breakfast, I go dance when everyone is praying, and then I go to family therapy. I am the last one to arrive and I see that the other Dr. Bryce is there.

"Good morning, Siren! Take a seat," He tells me. I walk over to Dr. Bryce and hand her the mirror. She looks down and she looks surprised and happy at the same time. She smiles at me and I smile back, before taking a seat. I look at my whole family and everyone looks cool, except for my mother. She looks like she is on edge, which is different from her being angry every time I've seen her.

"I know I said to get it done last night, but most cannot get it done in a week. I did not expect this," Dr. Amelia says to me still in shock over the mirror.

"Who I wanted to be, has never been the question. I've always known," I tell her, I look at my family and they stare at me. "I just did not feel like I deserved to be her. I grew up not feeling loved," I tell them. I can see both of my parents getting uncomfortable. "Then after the accident and everything else, I saw how everyone tried to step up and I was surrounded with love that I felt I did not deserve." I look down at my hands not able to look at them

I feel someone's big hand on mines. I look to see Apollo grabbing my hand. My only constant. My day one. I kiss his hand. He knows, he's felt the same way growing up. Life changed for him before it was too late.

"I have always loved you," my father says to me. "I was raising you the best I knew how. My upbringing wasn't much different. My parents were always gone. I used music to cope with their absence," my dad admits to me. "Expressing love has never been easy for me." I smile at him.

"I know you love me," I tell him. I watch as my dad's cheeks get wet and I try very hard not to join him. Dr. Amelia gives him a tissue to clean his face.

"We think Siren has done excellent and we want to continue your treatment through outpatient," Dr. Jerome announces to us. My family, except my mother, look overjoyed.

"Especially, seeing this mirror, and hearing you, I think you'll be able to handle a lot more and resume your life," Dr. Amelia adds. I take in a deep breath. I don't know what to make of their assessment of me. I don't even know what I'm feeling. Nervous? Excited? I do know I am overwhelmed by the news.

"You think she's prepared?" My father asks.

"If they think she's ready, yes. I'll prepare for her return home," my grandmother tells them. Dr. Amelia nods her head at her. "In a month, however, I need you back here with your mother."

I look at my mom. The anger is back in her face. "I have to go through more of this?" She says irritated.

Dr. Amelia crosses her arms on her chest. "Mrs. Alexander, your daughter's sobriety depends on your cooperation. Also, the homework I gave you," she says to her in a matter of fact tone. I want to laugh a little at Dr. Amelia's treatment of my mother. My mother rolls her eyes.

"I think with continued outside care, she will be able to stay clean and live a productive life," Dr. Jerome reiterates. We finish up the session and we all begin to walk out of the room. I grab Cookie's arm before she leaves me.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask her. She smiles at me.

"Ask me anything," she says to me.

"How did you stay sober?" I ask her. Her smile grows, it's the super-sweet smile I am used to.

"I used to feel like I needed to control everything and of course I couldn't, so alcohol is what I coped with. I thought if I was not in control, I would not reach my purpose. When I became a Christian, I was taught that my only purpose was to love and be loved. I did not have to control my life, that I could give God control. I just needed to love Him back. Love is powerful. It's essential to human survival. I don't walk this Earth thinking that I am anything less but loved," she explains to me. "You are love, my love." I grab her and hug her with all my might.

She leaves with my family and I watch as they go. I am loved. I am love.

The next few days I still attend therapy with my family. My doctor continues to give them advice on how to continue my care outside of the facility. Sadly, my mother is still giving me the cold shoulder. When the day arrives, I am so happy to be out. Now I understand Kline and her need for pizza. My grandmother has me get pizza on my first day out. We spend the day together but tell no one I am home. I want to slowly tell everyone I am home, in my own time.

When I get home, I go straight to my room. I haven't been here in weeks and I never thought I would miss this place. Although, the black walls are feeling like too much. I might need to redecorate. I put my bags down and take out the mirror Dr. Amelia gave me, and I think about what she did for me.

"I know this seems unorthodox, but I usually do this for my patients, especially my success stories," she told me. I'm one of her success stories? "I had this shellacked and engraved for you." She handed me the mirror. I touched the engraving, Siren Nike Alexander...The Victorious Goddess. The date of my release from rehab is on there. A happy tear rolls down my face.

Out of my head, I sit on my bed staring at the broken mirror. It's become a work of art. It will never be the same, again. It will never have cracks, but it represents restoration. A different type of beauty, one that shows scars can be beautiful. I put it back together. I put me back together. I get up from my bed and walk into my walk-in closet, ready to face my sister's mirror.

I remove the sheet. I feel like I can see her. She's smiling at me, proud. I reach out and touch the mirror. "I no longer see the monster, Calypso. I don't see your killer, I see a woman who has conquered her demons."