The message which has been left for you is:
I am Thomas' reflection. Every morning, he rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom....and he makes faces. I am so tired of the faces. He makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic his every action, although inside I am seething with anger. He does this every day...well, used to. One morning he awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom. On this particular morning, against his will, he picked up a pair of scissors. On this particular morning, against his will, he gripped those scissors tightly in his fist...and he plunged them directly into his right eye. Thomas screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference. I can't mimic his pain. Just his face.
"You move me, Kurt." ~ Blaine Anderson
