Introductory Ramble
Posted: Sun Jul 09, 2017 2:29 am
I wake up every day assuring people that I'm "okay". I mean it's natural. You tear yourself out from beneath your covers and eventually reach the closest coffee place before work and the cashier greets you with the inviting yet undeniably redundant and familiar "Good morning! How're you doing today"? I get it. Its the polite thing to ask but why does it feel so cold and inhumane?
Lets be real. No one cares, hell I don't care. We say that we're okay for the sake of convenience.
I mean, seriously, imagine casually asking a coworker "How are you?" or "How's your day been going?" and you respond with the truth.
"You know, everything is same old, same old. I hurt. I hurt so much that I can't breathe. I punch and scratch at my chest and I gasp for air but I feel like my lungs will never be satisfied. Sometimes I can't get out of bed and the days that I do, I feel like I'm only half alive. On the rare occasions that I feel genuine joy, I also feel paranoid because I'm waiting for the second shoe to drop and kick me back beneath my covers again. I feel tired, concave, I feel empty, I feel like enough isn't enough until its too much and I'm drowning and gasping for a reason to get up again."
But you know what? To the barista at Starbucks, to my coworkers who couldn't give a rats ass about me, and to my parents who would prefer me to say what they want to hear, I'm okay.
Lets be real. No one cares, hell I don't care. We say that we're okay for the sake of convenience.
I mean, seriously, imagine casually asking a coworker "How are you?" or "How's your day been going?" and you respond with the truth.
"You know, everything is same old, same old. I hurt. I hurt so much that I can't breathe. I punch and scratch at my chest and I gasp for air but I feel like my lungs will never be satisfied. Sometimes I can't get out of bed and the days that I do, I feel like I'm only half alive. On the rare occasions that I feel genuine joy, I also feel paranoid because I'm waiting for the second shoe to drop and kick me back beneath my covers again. I feel tired, concave, I feel empty, I feel like enough isn't enough until its too much and I'm drowning and gasping for a reason to get up again."
But you know what? To the barista at Starbucks, to my coworkers who couldn't give a rats ass about me, and to my parents who would prefer me to say what they want to hear, I'm okay.