Looking into the mirror, a deep, more sane part of my mind is disgusted. But, the other, larger part has a sick fascination in regard to what I'm doing.

Staring into my dark brown eyes, I let my face fall blank. I'm comatose. My soul seems to have been sucked into the dark oblivion of my own pupils, leaving the husk to fend for itself.

I ease myself into a broad carefree smile. I allow my eyes to follow suit and widen just slightly. I'm gazing into the eyes of Justin. He's nineteen, but still developing. He's too thin, but still attractive with his bright green eyes and black messy hair. He has a habit of running his hand through it when he's nervous, something Justin rarely is. He's confident, despite his intelligence. A bit slow at times, but not so much that he annoys. In fact, he's a lovable character, a real charmer. Anyone younger then him is 'Buddy' and older is 'Dude' or 'Man'. If he uses your actual name, it's shortened to a point where it's barely recognizable. Justin is the son my father couldn't have.

Once again I space-out, my face relaxing. This time I give myself a sarcastic smile and allow my eyes to narrow in attitude. This time it's Kim, sarcastic and confident to the point where the truth has become a curse on her character. Kim is twenty-six. Her eyes are small and hazel, below that, a straight nose, and a curvy mouth, often twisted with cynicism. Large curls of bronze surround a round face. She fills her frame in nicely, curved in the right places. She purposely calls people by the wrong first name, just to see what happens. After an unsatisfactory reaction, Kim often ignores their correction completely. Kim often taps her foot impatiently, even when there's nowhere to go, and exaggerates her hand movements when she speaks. Kim is the woman I want to be.

Kim soon blinks out of existence. Looking into the mirror, my relaxed features make my twenty-two year old face seem seventeen again. I force my eyes to widen and take on a child-like shyness. I can't look into the mirror anymore, it's just not her. Little Kim can't bring herself to look into people's eyes, even her own scare her. She's eight and can't read above a first grade level. Little Kim likes to color outside and listen to the piano. She, like the much older Kim, has the brown curly hair and hazel eyes. Little Kim is afraid of dolls and glass jars. She's always looking down and wearing a black and green dress that she claims was handed down to her from her sister, she loves this dress to death. As an incredibly shy child, she rarely speaks, even when she's in great need. Little Kim is my lonely childhood.

Once again, all expression leaves me. I then harden my features. My eyes turn to stone and my mouth sets into the form of Drake. Drake is a very serious man. He has shockingly blonde hair that's slowly turning white in some places and a pair of small blue eyes. He's in good shape for thirty-five with his wide shoulders and muscular thick body. He wears a pair of thin silver rimmed glasses. He doesn't take any situation lightly, never letting his guard down for even the kindest person. Whenever challenged, Drake thrusts his chest out and lifts his chin in the most superior of ways, mustn't let anyone see any kind of weakness. Drake's back is straighter then any of the other personalities and his tone is very stern and deep. Drake is my father.

I heave a sigh, resting my hands on the bathroom sick. Now when I gaze into the mirror, I only see me, Angela. I'm a little overweight with light brown hair. I'm a little paranoid and I suffer from at least a little anxiety. I keep eight different watches and three pocket watches. In my two bedroom apartment, There's at least two clocks in every room. I'm obsessed with time, I have to be, if I want to pull this off.

I haven't slept a full night in weeks. Just enough each night to keep me going. I have to become a little bit of a insomniac if I want to pull this off. I have to seem anxious and shaky. I got this apartment two weeks ago and I'm already getting noise complaints, arguing. These reports will help verify my case.

I'm a college dropout. Fucking pricks have no idea what psychology is. They scorned my theory, but soon I'll be able to get the evidence. My theory of the iguana personality. Not only are these people able to form to another's personality, but I know that they have the potential to adopt other's abnormal thoughts and behaviors. It's one thing to say you can hear voices, but I believe that these copycats can make themselves believe that they can hear voices and thus convincing others. After my first two years, I was already a laughing stock to my fellow students and teachers.

I've been studying two years for this moment. I've read the entire DSM-IV and I've read Sybil like the bible. I've practiced and even wrote down every single detail about all my personalities, which I will soon have to burn. Years ago, I was diagnosed with this Barmaid Syndrome. This copycat personality.

I will prove my research and convince the best psychologists of my 'illness'.

I will be the next person to be officially diagnosed as to having a multiple personality disorder.