How Are You? Really

Them: How are you?

Me: I’m good.

Them: How are you?

Me: I’m fine.

Them: How are you?

Me: I’m ok.

Them: No, really — how are you?

Me: I’m not okay.

Admitting that you’re not okay sometimes almost seems worse than being not okay. It’s like if I admit it, then I have to sit in it. I have to stop lying to myself. I have to fall apart. But I can’t. I can’t fall apart because who’s going to put me back together again?

So again I gaslight myself into being okay, because technically I am.

I mean technically I’m also not, but we don’t have to get into that right now, do we?

Can we just drink our matcha? 🍵 

Them: How are you?

Me: I’m ok, how are you?

Them: Tells me everything.

I’ve been told getting information out of me is like pulling teeth. And yes, I’m password protected — but ask me the right questions and I’ll unlock the door.

It’s easy for me to hide, because most people don’t ask, or they don’t ask the right questions. So I keep it all to myself. I take all the weight and I carry it — and then I carry everyone else’s, so my stuff gets pushed to the bottom. And I allow it, because then I don’t have to talk about it. I don’t have to deal with it. I can pretend not to feel it.

But you know what… maybe they are asking the right questions.

Maybe I’m just scared to speak the Truth.

The avoidance — the distraction — feels better in the moment than releasing the anchor and allowing the body to surface to the top of the water. Because letting it surface means everyone can see what has risen to the top, and it’s not a pretty picture.

-Fay