I'm not a rose by any other name... Does anyone else have the most disconcerting tendency to change? To change who you are? It seems every week I'm a new person, my heart and soul bourn anew. Everyweek I don't know who I used to be; don't know what I am. Everyweek my eyes show me the world differently. Everyweek my beliefs are cast aside to make way for the new. Does this happen to any of you? All that has remained the same is my mask; a mask forged by societal demands; a mask forged to keep me safe from the prying eyes of the world. Now I'm reliant on my mask. I cannot function without it. Even to the few people I love, I must hide away behind this mask. I can never speak my true thoughts; never share my sordid, macabre dreams; never share me... It seems I'm not a person after all. It seems I'm a melting pot of ideas. All the time, different ideas come to the surface. All the time, what I once was gets washed away. All the time I die and am reborn; a harrowing journey of a tearful phoenix. I wish I knew who I was... if I was anything at all. I wish I lived without tears. I wish... I wish no more. Wishes don't come true.