An imposter

The vicissitudes of my mien have long confounded me. Dissecting my moods is never easy. As the layers peel away, I understand less rather than more. And among the most confusing of feelings is the feeling of being an imposter. A fraud. Masquerader.

This feeling can occur along a wide spectrum. From a cheap phony to a charming charlatan to a being a wily but not so otherwise skilled con artist. Despite external appearances, I often feel like I’m pretending to be good- at everything. During such times, I tell myself everyone ‘fakes it till they make it’. Do they though?

I am pretend mother. A fake surgeon. A sham wife. Everyone around me are better, at everything. People think I’m intelligent, productive, disciplined- probably. I am none of those. I somehow get by. I’m incredibly lucky. But only I know the truth- I am big fat lie. Blessed by fate perhaps. I don’t really work hard, I am just at the right place at the right time. All the time.

Every time a reasonable doubt hits me, I go ‘ of course you will be scared, you know nothing’. The one good thing- going past doubt, fear or pain is not one of my failings. I can often overcome those. And probably that is the reason why I have gotten thus far. I can be crippled by doubt and fear and yet find it within me to drag my arse on further. Obstacles often leave me unmoored and viciously anxious, and yet I can dig deep and attempt to find a way around, over or through them. Yet, the unwavering doubt remains.

Ugh. One more failing of my mind, whose true allegience I am yet to determine. Is she with me, against me, both?

Till next time,


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