Why I Question My Experiences

Even my entire life story feels like imposter syndrome.

My Experiences Are…

At this point, I am a little more than a month into my writing endeavors on Medium. An activity started on a whim has now sparked a multitude of articles documenting my life experiences.

In doing so, I have covered a plethora of my personal experiences, including bouts of depression and long-lasting anxiety issues.

However, I often worry about how I’ve portrayed my own experiences.

Sometimes, I have these doubts in my mind. They tell me that I’m misrepresenting my own story. That the whole thing is just overplayed and wrong.

I mean, they’re my own experiences, right? How can they be wrong?
Is there a right way to experience something?

The answer should probably be a resounding “no”. But these reservations still linger within me. It’s like imposter syndrome, except for my entire life story.

For example, I’ve talked about my recent second wave of depression. In the first wave, while I had thoughts of worthlessness and not wanting to live, in hindsight those thoughts acted more as a plea for help. They were irrational.

However, the problems causing my second wave of “depression” were very real. Joblessness, lack of meaning in life, feeling actually worthless. And then came a concerning surge of negative energy that made me think at the moment…

“If I go into the kitchen, there’s a very real chance I could hurt myself.”

It was nothing like the first time. It was intense. So I holed up in my room when that feeling arose. However, in both this first and second wave, I was never formally diagnosed with depression. In part, because I never went to get it checked out.

Similarly, my “anxiety” forced my face into this twisted, ticked-off expression that literally hurt my face. I was completely averse to human interaction due to the fear of screwing something up.

Which I did pretty much every time.

But once again, I haven’t been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Sure, my doctor said my insomnia could have been because of stress from high school. But no formal diagnosis.

I was supposed to go see a specialist but never did. So all of this does make me worry if I’ve been labeling everything “depression” and “anxiety” incorrectly.

These experiences ticked off a lot of boxes for what I’d think depression and anxiety would be. It was certainly anything but normal.

But I can’t say for sure.

What if I’m misconstruing these definitions?
What if I’m just self-diagnosing everything?

There’s A Precedent

I had some wild realizations in the past that made me question my perspective. When I was a little kid, for example, at first, I did not know what it truly meant to be in poverty.

My family wasn’t rich, but they were definitely in the middle class.

I thought being poor meant you just had worse food and a smaller, more run-down house.

At the time, I had no idea people were working hard and still struggling to even obtain the sustenance to stay alive. And even then, some couldn’t afford that.

Once I realized that the notion I had was completely inaccurate, I began to doubt all my own perceptions.

I had lived a life where my family never had to worry about money, food security, or anything. I mean, one time the Tooth Fairy gave me a freakin’ Wii under my pillow.

So, these wild thoughts started to circulate in my mind. Did I really deserve to live this life? This entire time, was I thinking like those delusional, spoiled kids I read about online?

“MAAAA! Why’s my allowance only $10,000 for this month?! I want a car!”

I felt I didn’t deserve to have the feelings I’d have years later. I clearly had nothing to worry about. No “real" struggles or any of that.

So what did I have to be depressed or anxious about?
I had no right to feel that way, right?

Those same words were repeated to me by others. It only reaffirmed that belief. And because of that, the worse I felt… the worse I felt. It was a relentless feedback loop on my emotions.

My Experiences Are… Something

My experiences might’ve been real depression and anxiety. Or maybe they weren’t. It feels like they were, but I’ll never know for sure without that diagnosis.

What I can say is that I’ve dealt with some rough patches in my life. Through them, I’ve gained some insight into myself.

I came out having endured adversity, and it made me a little more resilient. That’s something I can’t deny. And perhaps that fact is all that’s important to me.