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  • Writer's pictureUmi

Am I the Imposter? (syndrome)

I am grappling with the thought of imposter syndrome. Might it be true, or am I a dreadful person? I know my storms come and go. I am used to them by now. I know all the warning signs. I make a home for them when they arrive. But it does not get any easier. People are not people anymore. They are mere irritations. Simply things you can use to make the best out of your day. It is selfish, but when the rain arrives, I do not care. I know when I am wrong or when I am being unfair or mean, but I struggle to stop. Push. Push. Push. Until they can’t take anymore. Push until you force them into oblivion. You have no one to blame but yourself. Though, I am sick of them all. I feel as if I have no purpose. I am strung in every direction, yet all I want is to keep my head in the sand. Leave me alone. Do not love me, do not hate me, do not perceive me for I am not here, just purely a figment of your imagination. Leave, drop me as the rest did. It will become easier when the hurt arrives. The feeling of being lost but expected of by the people who love me is enough to drive me over the edge. The fact that I can take my own life at any time is the only thing that comforts me enough to struggle through the day. Though there are still beautiful parts, I feed the feeling of wanting to crawl into a hole and hiss at anyone that comes near. Do not help me, do not love me, do not perceive me. Leave. Let me self-sabotage in the solace of my own home. I want to become one with my bed sheets and merge into the walls as I am forgotten. Let me be. Do not worry about me. I am not sure within my catastrophe whether I am bad or good. How does one tell? The voices in my head do not stop, yet we are never able to conclude. So let me be, do not love me, do not hate me. Leave me alone.

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