I hate mixers. The word itself sounds like a kitchen appliance, all whirring and grinding, and that's kinda how I feel inside when I'm at them. Like my guts are getting pureed. My boss, Mr. Henderson, he's always saying "network, kid, network!" like it's some magic spell that’ll make more money appear in my bank account. And yeah, I NEED more money. My mom’s hours got cut again, and the grocery bill just keeps getting bigger, so I gotta act like I'm some hotshot, like I BELONG in these rooms with all the expensive suits and the fake laughter. I plaster this smile on my face that feels like it’s gonna crack my cheeks, and I make my voice all loud and boomy, like I’m the life of the party even though all I wanna do is crawl under a table and just disappear. It's like I'm wearing a different person's skin, a size too small, and every time I laugh too loud or slap some dude on the back like we're old buddies, it feels like a little rip, you know? Like I'm tearing myself up inside. I watch the senior managers, all impressed by "my energy," and I just wanna scream, "THIS ISN'T ME! I'M FAKING IT!" But I can't. I gotta make a good impression, gotta get noticed, gotta climb that ladder so my mom doesn't have to work two jobs that barely pay for anything. So I keep talking, keep smiling, even when my throat feels like sandpaper and my head feels like a balloon that’s gonna pop from all the air I’m forcing into it. Then I get home, usually way after midnight, and the house is dark and quiet. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, and the person looking back at me… they look so tired. Their eyes are like burnt-out bulbs. And I don’t even know who they are anymore. It’s like the real me got left behind at the mixer, crumpled up in a corner somewhere, and I just brought home the costume. And the shame… it just sits heavy in my stomach, like a rock. I feel like such a fraud. Like I’m selling off little pieces of myself for every handshake, every fake laugh. And the worst part is, I know I'll do it all again next week. Gotta make that rent, gotta keep the lights on. It just… sucks.