American Lock Find Combination

I'm worried. The problem is mine, I know. Or as much of myself and my mirror. It's terrible. My friends and fellow poets do not have that problem. They get up, look and see the most outlandish things. One tells me that in the mirror he sees a unknown woman. At another, an alien face, almost ghostly look at it from the other side of the glass and screams things he always wanted but never meant to say. He says that the mirror returns the empty walls of the bathroom. That speaks of seeing the witch hag of their darkest desires when brushing your teeth every morning. I say that theirs are the true mirror, or on this side are murky and blurred reflection of the other, the real world. My mirror lies, denies, not reflected, is thoughtless. I do not understand, just know that I have is terrible, terrible. Has me worried. When I get up, wash my face and I look, I see no more nor less than what I know my face drowsy, semilúcida, of a semi. I know that's not right, but unfortunately for both the type that's me and I am that. Reflections Nothing extravagant, I admit to my friends not without shame. They look at me with condescension, if you look at me. It's terrible, it's me with my mirror is terrible. Or could the problem is mine, I do not know. I'm worried.