Stranger in the Mirror

Lately, every time I pass a mirror or even a reflective surface, I see a stranger peeking back at me. Sometimes, it takes me a second or a double take to recognize the tells that identify it as me: the eyes, the hair, the smile, the ability of the stranger to copy everything I do, perfectly.

I have had this reappearing thought recently and have not mentioned it to anyone, until now.
My self image is different than the image looking back from the mirror and by self image, I mean the concept of me when I picture myself or just become aware of myself.

My self image is a tall man, almost two meters, in his early forties with light to medium brown wavy hair and blue eyes. His arms and legs are not thin, nor are they droopy, but could use some toning. His face looks as if he has seen a bit of the world and has adopted a calm acceptance of it. What weight he has to spare, he carries on his belly – pudgy. He could use with more exercise and less chocolate, but all around not a wreck.

The image that peers back from any available reflective surface is basically the same person except that the weight is also “pudging” out the cheeks, so his eyes squint when he smiles and all but disappear when he laughs. The excess “pudge” also encircles the neck and is very pronounced around the belly, which protrudes forward so that gravity tugs it downward to and past the buckle of his belt.

It is this pudgy version of me that so freaks me out when I catch sight of him.

Am I alone in this difference between reality and self image, or is it just me, kindly, lying to myself?

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