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Avoiding looking at yourself in mirrors

Cassandro

Another thread asking 'is this an autistic thing?'

I've noticed I avoid catching sight of my reflection in bathroom cabinets, hallway mirrors and so on. It occurs to me that the sense is almost one of embarrassment, and may be similar to my problems connecting with other people and my general reluctance to make eye contact. When I'm in my inner world, is another human being too much even if it's myself?

I'm pretty sure it's not just worry about my appearance or ageing. I recall a big group at school when I was about 15 (at what might be PHSE nowadays), and a teacher asked for a show of hands by who had looked in the mirror that morning. They were teenagers. Of course they were concerned to look their best. I think I was the only one who hadn't, and didn't usually. I don't worry about appearance most of the time – I might look if in a fitting room, or glance in a car window if going to an event where I'm in front of people, and do have to shave occasionally but am still uncomfortable and don't look at my overall appearance. Almost literally scared of my own shadow.

There was some mention of this from a few people here: last month and a year ago. Kind of relate to 'a lot of other people with similar issues with mirrors'.

So here's the poll. Just a bit of fun, I hope.

Clarification after what Pirate Santa said: 'don't like eye contact' means either you probably don't keep eye contact as much as a typical person, or there are some circumstances, eg meetings with strangers, when you will usually be looking away, or inclined to look away, from people. There are times when I am interested in looking at someone, but it's far from my usual mode of being.

Parents

  • I need one that says ‘I am autistic, am intermittently good and bad with eye contact but rarely comfortable with it. And I hate mirrors but also sometimes get drawn to them in the hope I might magically look ok for two seconds’ 

    I especially hate mirrors on unexpected places. Like being reseated near one in a cafe or something and confronted with the full horror of what i inflict on the world. And usually there’s a harsh downward spotlight making my baldy bonce dazzle anyone within a five metre radius. Knowing it is bad enough, seeing the objective reality distrsssing.  I just want to apologise and go home, but I can’t.

  • in reply to Shardovan

    If that all sounds quite negative, I’m way better than I was. I genuinely believed myself to the the worlds ugliest person for a very long time. But in a way that was still an ego thing wasn’t it- making myself ‘special’? I’ve got myself into a more balanced mindstate since and now know that I’m merely in ‘no oil painting’ territory like a lot of blokes. I’m not scaring the horses or anything. Crossing the door is a little easier as I know I’m not making people double take in horror, im just invisibly unattractive. 

    But about five years ago I reached peak distress. I’d had quite a few instances of catching myself at a random angle in a random mirror and having an anxiety attack that I was so monstrous. Looking back, I think it may have been BDD but I always have this thought that if I’d said that to a Doctor they’d say ‘nah mate, you actually are a mutant, soz’ But one night I was so horrified that I got three mirrors, checked myself from every angle , saw only complete disfigurement and deformity, the more I checked the worse it got. Spent two hours at that, then used my phone camera to see if the un-mirrored version was less horrific. From different distances, angles, above, profile, back of head, full body posture, the lot. It was like a nightmare that was getting worse and worse, and I knew I was going to have to go into work the next day knowing that I now knew the full extent of what others had been enduring. I’d been right about the generalities, just not the epic scale of the horror. That wasn’t the only instance, just the worst one. I wanted to die. 

    Two nervous breakdowns, one miraculous relationship, and one therapist later, I can see myself (on a good day) as I truly am: just a perfectly acceptable human who just has what he has on the lottery of face and form. People understand I’m not ‘doing’ it on purpose, and they forgive. 

Reply
  • in reply to Shardovan

    If that all sounds quite negative, I’m way better than I was. I genuinely believed myself to the the worlds ugliest person for a very long time. But in a way that was still an ego thing wasn’t it- making myself ‘special’? I’ve got myself into a more balanced mindstate since and now know that I’m merely in ‘no oil painting’ territory like a lot of blokes. I’m not scaring the horses or anything. Crossing the door is a little easier as I know I’m not making people double take in horror, im just invisibly unattractive. 

    But about five years ago I reached peak distress. I’d had quite a few instances of catching myself at a random angle in a random mirror and having an anxiety attack that I was so monstrous. Looking back, I think it may have been BDD but I always have this thought that if I’d said that to a Doctor they’d say ‘nah mate, you actually are a mutant, soz’ But one night I was so horrified that I got three mirrors, checked myself from every angle , saw only complete disfigurement and deformity, the more I checked the worse it got. Spent two hours at that, then used my phone camera to see if the un-mirrored version was less horrific. From different distances, angles, above, profile, back of head, full body posture, the lot. It was like a nightmare that was getting worse and worse, and I knew I was going to have to go into work the next day knowing that I now knew the full extent of what others had been enduring. I’d been right about the generalities, just not the epic scale of the horror. That wasn’t the only instance, just the worst one. I wanted to die. 

    Two nervous breakdowns, one miraculous relationship, and one therapist later, I can see myself (on a good day) as I truly am: just a perfectly acceptable human who just has what he has on the lottery of face and form. People understand I’m not ‘doing’ it on purpose, and they forgive. 

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