In sooth I know not why I am sad.
It wearies me, you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me
That I have much ado to know myself.

(Antonio, The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare)

I survive my life it seems by pretending I am not actively involved in it.
Somehow I am just a curious member of the audience,
An innocent onlooker,
Trapped in the body of the lead character.

Holding all the cards in my hands, yet too weak to change a thing.
Powerless to all around me,
Just a spectator,
Trapped in the reality of all that I am and nothing I could be.

And so the show must go on...