#hehe intrusive thoughts and imposter syndrome go brrr

[miserydemandscompany]

Everything feels wrong

Horribly, horribly wrong...

I feel sick, I feel nauseated, a part of me feels that something isn't real

I despise this, the feeling that everything I do, or that my entire personality, is somehow false. I've spent so long having to pretend that everything is fine, that everything's okay.

Even with tears in my eyes, I have to pretend that my ever-changing mask is who I am. If it cracks, if it slips, should I falter for even a second...

Would there anybody be by my side? I can't help but feel that I'm somehow imagining my surroundings, that I'm back in the place I was as a child, that all of my efforts were for nothing...

The strangest thing is, I know it's in my head; I can see that my surroundings haven't changed, but somehow I feel that I'm blinded by this reality and the one in my head is where I should be seeing myself, that the past several years have been nothing but a mirage of lies I had deluded myself into.

The static in my head is deafening, persistent, it aggravates me whenever it pleases and always at the most inconvenient of times.

Perhaps it's an undiagnosed illness? Mental or otherwise? That's what I'd like to say, but...

Of course it's a lie. I've always been faking things for attention. Why would now be any different? There's nothing actually wrong with me. Never has, so why would that be any different? It's probably just hunger anyway from me accidentally not eating on time.

Just because there are tears doesn't mean it's real. Not for me.

And even if it was, who would believe me? What right do I have to speak about things I don't understand? Not even questioning the possibility is allowed, because it's just my mind making excuses to justify ignorance of any kind. It doesn't matter if it's intentional or not.

Even if I wanted to say my piece and speak of my experiences, I couldn't. The only thing I am capable of is silent screaming; I had lost my voice a long time ago. Even the mere thought of it would cause me to suffer; I would choke, suffocate even, before I could force the words out of me.

Ahaha... this sadness? This rage? What right do I have to emotions like this?? What a joke, me, pretending to even be remotely human! I was never human, I was only a tool. People like me only exist to be used; that's what society has always said.

The thoughts in my head consume me, deafening but ever-silent like a void. Tears? From where? There wasn't anything to justify it, after all; I feel nothing right now.

I think about the masks I have to put on, and the hats to show what skill I have, if I have any; it's depressing that I have to be a solo circus act, pretending like I am not one, not six, but twenty different performers. They are always in awe of me, but it's never enough, it's never enough for anyone, they will always want more!

And when the performer fails, when they falter under the pressure from all directions, where are the souls that claimed they cared? Where are the ones that usually tried to help, but couldn't because my burden of stress is too much for anyone but myself; even sharing the weight is nothing but agony for them.

They will leave me soon, or worse turn on me. They usually do. I can't keep this up forever, I'm slipping.

And so is the ever-shifting mask I wear. The minute it slips, that's the moment it cracks.

I can't help but feel that the pedestal that life has put me on is unstable now. Will it break, or will I collapse and fall?

...Will there be someone to catch me before I hit the ground?