Don’t ask me how I am

I don’t say much. I write it. That’s how I communicate. I don’t know why. But, I know I’m not alone.

If you’re only asking how I am because that’s what you do, I’ll tell you I’m fine. I’ll tell you I’m fine every day. If you should sit down with me, look me in the eye, and ask how I am, there’s a very good chance I’ll start crying.

I’m not well. I’m not doing well. I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do to be well, but I’m still not well.

I’ve reached a magical age when past, present, and future are all colliding. I’ve spent years hoping to escape the past by pretending it didn’t happen; I’ve attempted, in vain, to live in the present, and I’ve effectively glorified the future as though it will somehow, magically take the past away. And, I’ve now met future after future and it didn’t magically erase anything.

I, I, I. It’s so terribly selfish. So, if you want to know how I am? Ask as though you don’t really care and I’ll tell you I’m fine.

Sit me down, look me in the eye, and ask how I really am?

Be prepared for a very long conversation and tears. I’m not well, but I don’t want to be a burden either, so just trust me when I say I’m fine.

I’m fine.

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