Mirror man

   For the third time in my life, I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself. This time, like the other two, is quite bewildering, but for different reasons. My face shows age that I don't feel except in old (and new) injuries. My baby fat has melted away, leaving a face reminiscent of family members in their twenties and thirties from my childhood. I see the lines on my forehead when I make facial expressions where once was a smooth surface punctuated by pimples. I look at a solid angular jawline and prominent cheekbones where once there were youthful curves. My eyes, though still bright and fiery, have a sorrow in them born of broken hearts and shattered dreams, the way only life can give you. I know this man who's eyes I stare into so intently must be me, yet I study his face and gestures like a blind man having just received sight. 
   The first time I stared at a stranger in the mirror I was a teenager. Having recently grown into puberty I saw an image of myself and realized I didn't know who I was. My childhood had become murky, partially due to a Prozac prescription that had some side effects on my memory. Also having lost my best freind to a recent suicide, i was particularly addled. Looking at the reflection I saw a face and body that was familiar but at the same time alien to the child's self I had known for so seemingly long. I was sure that I hadn't always had those bright blue eyes, that smile, the dimples and cleft chin. I couldn't remember much about who I had been up until that point. Some memories of a series of violent episodes involving my father and various people, a few random childhood scenes, and of course most of the birthdays and Christmases. I decided then to start on becoming a real character. I couldn't just be some guy, I had to be something only I could be. I just had no idea what that was.
   The second sudden realization of metamorphosis took place when I was in my early twenties having just finished with my time in the navy. I was six foot, two hundred and fifty pounds, and I had been drinking heavily for the last four years. The man I saw wasn't one I was proud of. I had made many poor decisions and saw them in my bloated cheeks and bags under my eyes. My belly had become a beer gut that rivaled late term pregnancies and would be the brunt of jokes to that effect quite often. As i stared, I could feel the eyes in my other self looking back at me in shame. How did I get to this point? I was lost but had been through enough trials and tribulations that I knew I'd land on my feet somehow. I knew who I had been, but I hadn't figured out who I was, and what I should do with myself. I was a man, but hardly. The world had been trying to break me for my own benefit and I just didn't get it. In AA meetings they tell you that you have to hit rock bottom before you can rebuild yourself. I didnt reach that point for years, I'm still not sure I ever have. 
   I am, as of this writing, on the cusp of my thirtieth birthday, a date that I have dreaded since I could still count facial hairs. I am sitting in bed next to the most wonderful human being I've ever had the privilege of falling in love with, and despite her warmth as she peacefully sleeps beside me, i am unable to sleep. A few minutes ago (before I grabbed this tablet) I was curled up in bed waiting for the sandman to throw some sheep at me to put me under when I decided on a glass of water and a bathroom visit. I decided to shave earlier today for the first time in ages. I stopped drinking for the most part a few months ago and between that and a better diet I am down to one hundred and sixty eight pounds. After voiding my bladder I turned to look in the mirror and saw a stranger. Alone with myself standing in front of the sink as I washed my hands, I looked at the child I used to be, the young man I became, and realized that I have become what I was trying to be. For once I have no big drama, no belief that the world is against me, no animosity towards the people I care about. Most importantly, and most surprisingly, I no longer hate myself. I have travelled all over the country, I've worked many different jobs, I've read novels and poems, I've seen art and nature, I've seen art IN nature, I've tasted most (but not all) of the dishes on the buffet. I see the man I always wanted to be and it is as unreal as if I saw Mickey Mouse in jackboots and a pompadour baring his teeth at me. I'm told that I'm kind and gentle, but manly and tough. I'm artistic and well spoken while mechanically inclined and vulgar. I am so struck by this image for this reason: it's who I know I always wanted to be but hated myself so much I didn't believe I could be. I realized while writing this, the only conclusion I could come to: it's a mirror. The guy in it? That's me. I am an artist, an athlete, a musician, a poet. I am Tristan Storey Lock.