The mirror stood in front of me. Cool, pale, and unflattering. I took a step closer, my hand outstretched, until my fingertips hovered just above the surface of the glass. They wavered slightly, like it was an immense effort to keep my arm raised and still.

I felt like breaking the glass. I felt like lashing out with fists and fury, shattering my reflection as it stood before me. The mirror would crumble, as I would stand raging above it, a fire lit in my eyes, anger coursing through my veins. But the image of me in the mirror would be the same. I would still be standing there, unfeeling, unmoving, staring at nothing and everything, as the glass broke and fell to the floor. I would gaze down at myself, feeling as if I was free and as if I had failed at the same time.

If I left the mirror untouched; if I kept control and didn’t let anything show through, then I would have kept my façade up. I would still be the untouchable girl, unattainable, distant, and exactly as I should be. If I lost control and finally broke the glass, then I would have failed to remain in the image I had forged for myself; I would be breaking. But I would be real. I would be free. I would be able to stand back and say YOU CAN'T MAKE ME PERFECT. I WILL NEVER BE PERFECT.

Now I stand before the mirror, this war battling inside of me. I can see the look in my eyes. A turmoil rages there, but they are edged with a steely determination. I lower my hand. Not today. I will not break today. I turn and walk away from the glass.