It’s no secret that I suffer from a severe case of Imposter Syndrome.

I’ve written quite extensively about how my Imposter Syndrome often presents itself; perched on my shoulder like that little demonic lizard I read about in CS Lewis’ The Great Divorce, amplifying all of my deepest insecurities in my mind as I go about my daily life. 

The good news is, I know that my Imposter Syndrome is stupid and full of shit. Even better, I’m working my ass off to combat it by speaking truth to lies. For instance, every time I’m at college and think, “I don’t belong here.”, I can immediately stop that thought before it spirals into a full-blown existential crisis by saying aloud, “I do, in fact, belong at college.”

My Imposter Syndrome may never go away until some fifty-eyed elohim rips it off my shoulder when I die, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely hopeless against it until then. Like Cystic Fibrosis, Imposter Syndrome is just something I have to fight against. And, like Cystic Fibrosis, I have a lot of ways to successfully bring it to heel. 

Still, the question remains, “Where did my Imposter Syndrome come from?”, because Imposter Syndrome is shockingly not something everyone has. The answer to that question, at least for me, is simple: childhood trauma. Lots and lots of childhood trauma. 

Actually… that’s not entirely where my Imposter Syndrome comes from. It also comes from the society in which I live, and how it’s portrayed in the media. In other words, even my autistic, redneck, social-media-free ass ain’t immune to social pressure. 

For the record, I like who I am and who I’m becoming, and I’ve accepted ages ago that I’ll forever be a bit… eccentric… and that’s perfectly okay. Even so, I am still painfully aware of just how weird I am, and how out-of-place I am when compared to everyone else. 

Worse, I am well aware of how people often perceive me, and those perceptions aren’t always great. 

For example, before I even started college, my grandma Debbie took me to ACC to drop off my high school transcripts, so I could skip the placement tests and get right into college. When I handed my transcripts to the grumpy college administrator who immediately told me I didn’t have to worry about taking any remedial courses, my grandma Debbie remarked, “See? You’re smarter than you look!”, and the college administrator nodded, “Yes you are!”

Now, my grandma Debbie was just joking with me. The college administrator, however, was dead fucking serious, and didn’t even crack a hint of a smile the whole time we were interacting with her. This interaction pretty much gave my Imposter Syndrome a bullhorn, and it’s been haunting me ever since. 

On the surface, it’s quite hilarious. But, it certainly speaks to a lot of the Imposter Syndrome I’ve felt about college since starting it. After all, I really don’t fit into the “studious student” stereotype by any means. I blend into my surroundings a lot better when I’m in the hunting section at Walmart asking for $60 worth in .243 rounds on a Friday morning, vs when I’m at college surrounded by professionally dressed, pointy headed students and professors. And because of that, I do notice that people treat me quite differently until I accidentally say something shockingly intelligent on the first day of class, promoting me to the “Professor’s Pet.”

Then, as the semester wears on and the grades start rolling in, many of my peers will approach me and say something along the lines of, “I’m surprised you think that evolution is true, because when I first saw you, I thought you’d be one of those people.”, which is something a student in my Philosophy course actually told me over the summer. In that particular case, a Philosophy peer thought that I would turn out to be some conservative evangelical, and was surprised when I opened my mouth and made it clear that I was not one of “those people.”

Similarly, most recently in my Psychology class, I arrived with a container of sushi from the grocery store for a late lunch, and the classmate who sits beside me (a nursing student) said, “I’m surprised you like sushi.”

“Why’s that?” I asked as I used chopsticks to stuff my face with tuna rolls.

“Because you never struck me as a very… uhhh… cultured person. I was wrong.”