who's driving this thing?

I see myself as a mirror a wall
A tall man short, a big man small
I look as water in a tirade
I feel as young as old age
I cry with joy when tears are ice
I laugh in glee as if a vice
The oxymoronical metamorphosis of me
The perceivably perplexing incongruity
The residual revampment of my heart
The continuous contraception of its start