I am an incredibly good actress.

You might recognize me as Leisel from "The Sound of Music" in our community theatre production. I sung onstage with obvious delight, parading around in my old-fashioned dress, singing my heart out and playing Leisel so well, that I became Leisel while performing. The reviews were all positive; I must have been better than I thought.

Actually, I must have been much better than I thought, because a week later, Donov Ramouvshka offered me the part of Meg in "The Phantom of the Opera"—the Broadway show. I couldn't believe it! Luckily, though, being on Broadway was no different than being back home on the community theatre stage; except, you know, I got paid. But my acting was the same, if n`ot better. I continued to become each character I played.

And becoming the character was only the beginning of it. I got so swept up in the world; being my characters every chance I could snag, for practice; for help on nailing the part. And I was fantastic; pretty soon, I was playing parts like Christine and Belle and Dorothy and Belladonna. I was a Broadway star ; I was the luckiest girl in the world.

There was only one problem.

Once offstage, I didn't really have too many friends, and I began to wonder why. I started to feel more and more alone, and pretty soon, the stage wasn't only a way to make money; it was a way to escape from reality. Unfortunately, the reason I wanted to escape reality was because, essentially, I had no reality.

But what? you ask. Reality is reality. It's simple; it's there; it's existent. It's consistent, steady, verifiable, factual. Almost tangible, had reality not been conceptual rather than material. And yet I had no reality of my own. I had always been able to lose myself in others' realities; in Leisel's, in Christine's, in Dorothy's…it was so easy. But I wasn't myself.

I didn't even know who I was, myself. I had no reality of my own. Usually, I would remain whatever character I was inside and out of rehearsal. That was my identity for the next few months, and then a new identity would change when I got a new role. It seemed like I was everyone but myself. I didn't have an identity; there was no character of me.

Acting consumes me; I love portraying characters. But there really is nothing that represents me for me. Alas, it looks as if I'll be doomed to be someone else for the rest of my life: friendless, loveless, and living one lie after another.