The Imposter

There are times each day when I’m so empty on the inside that I can barely muster a hollow smile.
There are moments each day when I’m so devoid of hope that I struggle even to look another in the eye.
There are instances each day when I’m so drained of will that I can hardly lift my head.
There are periods each day when I’m so overcome by despair that my lips start to quiver.
 
But no matter how vacant I am on the inside, I make myself presentable to the world.
Hiding the day-in and day-out angst, anxiety, irritability, and anger.
I have forgotten what it is like to know joy ever since sadness became the norm.
When pretending becomes routine, even the fraud begins to feel real.
Here he is, the imposter, creeping in once again.
 
I feel undeserving of friendship, of romance, and of love.
I am full of self-hate, of disgrace, and of embarrassment.
There isn’t a thing you could say or do that would make me feel different.
We could talk about it…but I fear it would make you feel uncomfortable.
We could discuss it…but I fear you would begin to pity me.
 
The shame of burdening you with my thoughts is too much to bear.
But keeping this from you feels too much like a lie.
I would rather risk being known than continue hiding.

The truth is that I battle depression.
I wrestle with anxiety.
Most days are struggles.
Many nights are dark.
And it’s not something that is going to go away.
It will be with me for the rest of my life. 

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Written in 2019

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser