Mirror images is often different from the "felt images".

When you close your eyes and try to think of the shape of your own body, what you imagine (or, rather, what you feel) is quite different from what you see when you open your eyes and look in the mirror. The image you feel is much vaguer than the one you see. And if you lie still, it is quite hard to imagine yourself as having any particular size of shape.
    When you move, when you feel the weight of your arms and legs and the natural resistance of the objects around you, the "felt image" of yourself starts to become clearer. It is almost as if it were created by your own actions and the sensations they cause.
    The image you make for yourself has rather strange proportions: certain parts feel much larger than they look. If you poke your tongue into a hole in one of your teeth, it feels enormous; you are often surprised by how small it looks when you inspect it in the mirror.
    But although the "felt image" may not have the exact shape you see in the mirror, it is much more important. It is the image through which you recognize your physical existence in the world. In spite of its strange proportions, it is all one piece, and since it has a consistent right and felt and top and bottom, it allows you to locate new sensations when they occur. It allows you to find nose in the dark, scratch itches and point to pain.
    If the felt image is damaged for any reason—if it is cut in half or lost, as it often is after certain strokes which wipe out recognition of one entire side—these tasks become almost impossible. What is more, it becomes hard to make sense of one’s own visual appearance. If one half of the felt image is wiped out or injured, the patient stops recognizing the affected of his body. It is hard for him to find the location of sensation on that side, and, although he fells doctor’s touch, he locates it as being on the undamaged side.
    He loses his ability to accept the affected side as part of his body even when he can see it. If you throw him a pair of gloves and ask him to put them on, he will only glove one hand and leave the other bear. And yet he had had to use the left hand in order to glove the right. The fact that he can see the ungloved hand doesn’t seem to help him, and there is no reason why it should. He can no longer reconcile what he sees with what he feels—the ungloved object lying on the left may look like a hand, but, since there is no felt image corresponding to it, why should he claim the object as his?