” Well hopefully u do find out what is hidden deep down inside of you & u face the demons & send them packing & u can deal with what ever you have to face to carry on & be the funny happy Merbear that we all love not an imposter.”
This was a message sent to me on Facebook a few months ago. My ex coworker/friend. At the time, it really didn’t seem out of the ordinary. But yesterday I was going through the chat history and this stopped me in my tracks.
Ain’t nothin gonna breaka her stride.
The thing that irks me about this message isn’t the “betcha by golly wow” attitude though. It’s the fucking fact that she called me an imposter. “Oh where oh where has my Merbear gone, or where oh where can she be?”
I’m right here, bitch.
That comment makes me feel really bad, seriously. Was I only valuable when I was “normal”, not plagued by demons? Has my usefulness as a human being been compromised because I
was am depressed? That’s something that will never fully go away. I’m a lifer. There is no cure. There is no such thing as just “carrying on.” I take my pills, see my therapist, write on my blog, and hope for the best.
I am not an imposter. I am myself, redefined. I am still funny. I can still experience happiness. I can understand now why I stopped communicating with this person. A friend accepts you for who you are. Not who they think you used to be.