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My mind is not my own. I am a conglomerate of the data I have collected over the years from other people and the bits and pieces of free thought and will that I have used to fill in the cracks. I am an observer. A listener, never at the forefront, sometimes wishing he were. I formulate opinions based on the information given to me. My very being changes with the conversation. I can be cruel, loving, consoling, fearful, anything, if there is call. I’m addicted to my input, because when I don’t get it, I think about things I don’t want to think about. Tell me with all your language what I should be and I will. Your body language, your inflections, your speech, your actions, I act on them, chameleon to them, and I never know the true me. I am a camouflaged individual without an under. When my observations get mixed signals, I’m afraid, because when there are mixed signals, my actions might hit to the wrong side. I am a rock in the flowing river of humanity. I remove pebbles and clogs, try to help it run smoothly. Some patches of water rip at me, try to wear me down, others accept me but rush on without an acknowledgement, but once in a while they soothe my abrasions, help me get through the day. Very few people like that exist for me. Plenty of fish in the sea, but never a nibble for me. So sad. Well, I have a job to do. There is no room for uncertainty. No room for doubt. I must assist all those who need it and accept it, and my self is not important. I must try to be the perfect individual for each of them, to get in and work things out. Some may call it deceitful, but I call it necessary. Not many would accept me as I am. I don’t know how to be as I am. It’s a frightening concept, peeling off the layers of impressed values, morals, to get through to the person inside. It’s impossible.