This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Roos85 on 2024-10-17 20:09:35+00:00.
My name is Amelia, and for as long as I can remember, I've suffered from a strange and terrifying affliction. I'm not blind; for me, everything seems normal, but every time I look in the mirror, all I see is the back of my head. The only upside to my problem is that it makes brushing my long blonde hair easy, but apart from that it feels like a curse.
The older I get the worse I feel about it. It's really hard for me to explain it. People see me, but when they try to explain to me what I look like, the words they use to describe me don't seem to exist.
It's the same for photos and even drawings of me. For one of my birthdays, my mother hired an artist to draw a portrait of me. My mother thought it would work; she figured if people couldn't paint me with words, they could capture my true appearance on canvas. The painter she hired was really talented and was famous in our town for being an amazing portrait artist. It didn't take long to see the frustration in the painter's eyes as she sat there for hours trying to draw me. By the time she was done, she had 4 beautiful pictures of the back of my head.
Family photos were the worst and the most painful for me. Any of the family photos that made the wall had my family smiling proudly at the camera, but all you saw of me was the back of my head. I usually opted out of taking photos. It gets too depressing for me. It kind of feels like I don't exist; I'm present, but I don't have an identity.
I've been seeing doctors for years, but no one ever gave me an answer for what might be causing this. I've had brain scans which always came back normal. I've seen countless psychologists, but they say I'm not crazy because If that was the case, then everyone else would have to be crazy as well. The few photos and portraits of me prove it's not just in my head.
I always struggled with the sense I didn't belong in this world. I always had a distorted view of the world. My parents put this down to my condition, but I always felt the two were interconnected. There was always this gnawing feeling of despair where I felt I wasn't meant to be born or I existed between realms of existence. My mother told me it was normal to feel like that, that it was your typical teenage existential angst. But for me, it went a lot deeper than that; it wasn't hormones or a brain injury or mental defect; for me, it was a terrifying waking nightmare.
When I was seventeen, I had my first school dance, and despite everything, I was excited. My best friend, Lily, helped me pick out a beautiful dress, a deep blue gown that complimented my long blonde hair. I felt almost normal for once, laughing with her as we styled each other's hair. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe I could blend in with the other girls, that maybe tonight, I wouldn’t feel so out of place. But as soon as we arrived at the dance, that fragile sense of normalcy began to crumble.
That night truly shattered any feeling of belonging when the photographers arrived, going from group to group, capturing memories. I had been in a small circle of friends when the photographer called us over for a picture. I hesitated, but Lily urged me forward, assuring me that I looked beautiful. We lined up, and for the first time in years, I hoped desperately that maybe this time it would be different. Maybe tonight I would appear like everyone else. But when the photo printed out and made its way around the group, there it was again: the back of my head, while everyone else stood smiling and radiant. The laughter and excitement in my group died, replaced with awkward silence.
Lily tried to comfort me, saying it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t bear it anymore. I slipped out of the dance hall, walking home alone. That night solidified the isolation I’d felt for years, but now it was worse. It wasn’t just that I felt different, it was that I could never escape it. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, to be seen like everyone else, my reflection would always betray me.
By the time my 18th birthday came around, the feelings of not belonging had all but consumed me. I had spent the entire night hunched over my desk, writing out my farewell letter to my family. My hands shook as I tried to explain the inexplicable, how living like this, always feeling out of place, was unbearable. When I finally finished, I folded the letter neatly and left it on my nightstand. Taking one last look in the mirror, I silently begged for something, anything that would give me a reason to stay. But all I saw was the back of my head, cold and distant, hiding what I was about to do. My father's gun felt heavy in my hand as I pressed it to the roof of my mouth. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
I expected darkness, an end. But instead, I woke up in my bed. For a moment, I thought the gun had misfired, that maybe I had failed. But there was no blood, no pain, no damage to my face. Everything was eerily calm. I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. When I looked, I froze. A girl stared back at me, wide-eyed and confused, but it wasn’t the back of my head, It was me. For the first time, I was seeing myself, a real face. She looked so unfamiliar yet undeniably me. My hair, my eyes, my features were all there, staring right back at me like the world had been flipped upside down.
Panicked, I bolted from my room and raced down the stairs, but something strange caught my eye along the way. The family photos on the wall were all different. Every single person in them was turned away, their faces hidden showing only the back of their heads. All except me. In each one, I stood facing the camera, smiling like nothing had ever been wrong, like I had always belonged there. It was impossible, and yet, there I was, staring back at myself from the photos as if this had always been my reality. As if the entire world had been reversed, and the terrifying thing was that I didn't seem to belong in this world either.