I’m not someone to be compared to your abusive ex or your controlling mother. I don’t exist to be the subject of your clichéd poetry rattling off the same old worn out criticisms of vanity and the human condition. I’m not an ironic tag for your selfie, nor a fascinating psychological specimen to be the subject of your simultaneous pity and revulsion. I’m not a monster or a punchline, and I refuse to be treated as if I am. If your reflection never felt familiar no matter how many times you saw it, you’d stare at the mirror too.