I stood in front of my full-length mirror, staring. It shown back a reflection I didn’t want, a picture I hated. The mirror was an old one, with a silver design around the frame that looks like frost. It wasn’t nailed to my wall but had a backing that made it stand on its own. It was moveable. ‘A family heirloom’ my mother had said before she gave to it to me. Her pale spidery fingers tapped it with motherly caution and she glazed at it gently, there was no doubt that she loved this antique. That was our last real conversation. It has grown so silent in our house that I sometimes believe we aren’t even there, but we have our reasons for silence. She can barely be around me without feeling emptiness and failure while I can barely look at her without becoming drunk with jealousy. She is beautiful and I am only her clone. We both look alike, the perfect mother daughter couple, but we can only manage that bond on the outside. Both of us have silvery long blond hair that shines like glass, fair skin so pretty and delicate and our unforgettable ice blue, as beautiful as they are cold. She is the ice queen and I am her unwanted ice princess. The difference between us is secretly our both most powerful connection: Our obsession to be thin. No, not just thin, anorexic, though you’ll never be able to pull the latter from our glossed lips. How many times have I skipped meals, drunk only water and as a treat ate celery? How many times have I laboured vigorously till no end, sweating those few remaining calories off my body and exercising the expression of blood, sweat and tears? How many times have I studied and examined countless pictures of bone thin models, so skinny I could probably snap them in half with two fingers? How many times have I been tempted to break that mirror? It’s still not enough though, I’m still imperfect. I have frozen my body with my technique; it will stay the same always. No matter how many times I minimize my food intake or the intense workouts, my body has stopped. Yet I still think I’m fat. I look in the mirror and see myself in the way I painted what it looks like in my head. Belly rolls splurge, chubby red cheeks, thick thighs and blubbery arms. I wonder why I don’t get bullied for being so fat. But that’s actually the opposite effect for people. I watch happily as they take in my body, so thin. When someone says that I’m too skinny I rise with pride, but yet I’m still unsure, I’m still not done. Just a few more pounds and then I’ll stop. I’ll be normal again but this time I’ll be perfect. So here is where I am. I stand in front of my full length mirror, hating it but sadly in my heart I know I’ll I won’t stop worshiping this solid glass. With my fingers pricking and jabbing my skin, believing its fat and I know I will always be frozen.