On a normal day (or what passes for "normal" in my world), I feel free. Cagey, but free nonetheless. You see, I'm a chameleon. I can fit in anywhere. I gauge the situation I'm in and adapt to my environment. If the right people ever got a hold of me, I could probably infiltrate the Vatican and spill Christianity's deepest secrets... I hyperbolise, of course, but that's just the hubris of this version of me talking. Ah, the version of me writing these words right now may not be the version of me that finishes this story. I could write this story a hundred times and it would be different each time. You see, I'm a chameleon.
Picture someone that is the very metaphysical embodiment of laissez-faire. Yeah, that's me. Now imagine someone that is on the brink of insanity, staring at the abyss as the chaotic world rumbles on around them. That's also me. A figment of your imagination, as meek as a wallflower? Me. I don't think a better word exists to describe me (yet) other than "chameleon"; "bipolar" implies only two contradicting states of mind, and if anything, I'm "multipolar." Do I feel "regular" emotions? Depends on who I am, when I am. Some versions of me may very well be clinical psychopaths. Others, pushovers. There's too many to keep track of. This is the liberating part - I'm free to be whom I want, when I want. As long as social construct calls for it, I can be exactly what you want me to be. Sort of like a less disturbing spin on Rule 34. Or perhaps greatly more disturbing. How do you know I don't tailor my personality to comfort you when you've just got out of a bad relationship? How do you know I don't say exactly what you want to hear? Scary thought, int it (oh look, this version of me is Grimsby English). And yet, I feel trapped. Flitting between personalities leaves me wondering (and probably you, if you've made it this far and actually care) - is there even a real me? I'm not schizophrenic, I can tell there's a difference between myself in a mirror and my real self; the person in the mirror is way cooler (hey, a funny alter ego). But living life like a masquerade ball is not as fun as it sounds.
As best I can tell, there is one alter ego I tend to favour over all the others - the one that does his best to avoid being the cynosure , the one that is antisocial. That way, there's less of a chance I'll ruin someone's life (this identity sounds emo, but trust me, he's alright). This identity, he feels emotion, he's no sociopath. He cares about people, sometimes even more than that. He says what he means. He listens to outlandish genres of music. He doesn't understand social cues all that well. But he's learning. And he is me. And you see, I'm a chameleon.