The Blessing of a Curse

I dip my pen in ink and sketch the entire seams of my existence.
My life is held together by fragile membranes resembling thoughts
from someone else's mind, body, and empty soul.
Who am I?
I scream from behind eyes that belong not to me but to someone I'll never know.
My mind shatters and I struggle to hold on.
I struggle to remain the one in control but the more I slip
the more I realize that there is nothing left to grasp
but the reality that isn't mine.
Slowly...
Unfamiliar with the threads I slip and lose my grip.
It sends my mind sliding backwards in the forever ongoing avalanche
of twisted personalities crawling over one another to win
a glimpse of themselves in their true and original form.
They wish to see the body and the eyes of the one
that holds the fragile shards of their mind in the palm of their hand.
The one that holds their entire life in the palm of their mind.

Is being me a blessing?
Or...
Is being me one hell of a curse?