Just a teeny tiny disclaimer: I’m writing this right now after Twelve Hours of alternate crying and sleeping, so it would be an understatement to say that this blog post is going to be all over the place, and just basically a piece of shit that I’m probably going to delete sooner or later. I just wanted to try something –– anything besides lying down on the cold bathroom floor and thinking that would be a good place to cry-sleep, because my fucked up logic at the time told me crying all over my bed was unhygienic –– to release all this pent-up frustration (towards myself, mostly).

From high school until now, when people tell me what my first impression was to them, they would usually say the same thing. You look like a total bitch. I thought you hated me. You look like you don’t give a fuck about what other people think. You look sure of yourself. Et cetera. I used to be proud of that. It gave me some kind of power to know that people were intimidated by me. As they got to know me more, their impressions would change. You’re so kind! You’re so smart! How do you balance school and always hanging out with your friends? I could always count on you! That made me proud, too. In their minds, I was this standoffish bitch at first, but underneath all that, I was this sweet, smart, and understanding puppy. Like…a cat with the heart of…a Golden Retriever? I guess.

And I couldn’t agree with them any less.

I’m a Fucking fraud. I conned you all. I’m not a dog in a cat as much as I’d like to be; I’m closer to a black hole than anything else. A hollow soul. It sounds pathetic as hell, but that’s just exactly what I feel.

Sure of myself? God, I wish I was. People mistake my desperate need to exceed expectations as some kind of confidence. Even though large crowds of strangers make me anxious, it’s impossible in my college to live in an island. So I do what I’m expected to do: force a smile, communicate, do my job. I think I do it so well sometimes that people think I’m a natural at it, when in fact it stresses me out to the core. I hate it. I constantly feel like I’m being judged, and that sooner or later, people will find out and become disappointed.

Kind? You could always count on me? Damn right you can, as it’s nearly impossible for me to say no to anything because of my unending search for acceptance and redemption because I was and still am a piece of shit. I’ve let myself get fucked (literally and figuratively, unfortunately) and used in order to avoid people’s disappointment, even though I don’t matter enough to them. It’s not really being kind, unless kind means jumping off a cliff because someone told you they’d never forgive you if you didn’t.

Smart? Oh, please. I’m surrounded by geniuses in this university. I’m mediocre, if anything. I don’t even know what I want to do with my life. I have no solid work ethic, I get easily stressed, and I’m a sucker for bad habits. I’m terrible.

I’m fucking terrible.

But hey, at least I’m aware of the way I think now, right? That I’m a sourpuss pessimist that hates herself so much that she’s curated a whole façade to try and avoid disappointment? That it’s all fake?

Wrong.

There is no resolution to this. I’ve gone through Therapy, talks with close friends, and basically everything I was, again, expected to do. I thought it worked, to be honest, as I have been okay for a year, until twelve hours ago.

I realized then that I’ll always be like this. Deep inside, I’ll always be a con.

Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow. Some more pep talks with people who care and maybe a couple of therapy sessions after this quarantine, and I’ll be good as new. But I already know now that it’s all pretend. Like everything else about me, it’s fake. I’ll feel better, yes, but I won’t be better. No matter how much I try it’s all just going to be fraudulent.

Is self-deceit worth the finite contentment to be called a silver lining to all this?