I’m Okay. Not Really.

Sometimes I catch myself making someone the villain in my story.

It usually starts with disappointment. They weren’t there when I needed them, said something that hurt, or didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t okay. I replay it in my head until I start remembering other times they let me down. Before long, I’m upset about things I thought I’d already moved past, and I begin to tell myself they don’t really care.

And yet, these are the same people who helped me through days I didn’t know how to get through. They’ve listened to the same worries more than once, checked on me, and been patient with me.

But on days when the fireflies become flames, the light brings no comfort. It burns me instead. I call these my dark days. During those days, it’s hard to remember how much people have been there for me. I feel like I’m on my own.

Looking back, I know how much help I’ve received. People showed up for me, sometimes in ways I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. I felt alone, but I wasn’t as alone as I believed.

Still, there were times they asked, “How are you?” and I said, “I’m fine.” I wished they’d asked a little more. I hoped they’d notice something in my answer and give me another chance to tell them I wasn’t okay. But then again, I probably would have said, “I’m fine,” anyway.

I didn’t want to inconvenience them. I knew they had their own worries, and sometimes I felt embarrassed that I was still struggling with the same things. I didn’t know how to bring them up again without feeling like I was asking too much.

Sometimes I did want to talk. I just didn’t know where to begin. There was so much to explain, and I worried I’d regret saying too much or feel worse if they didn’t know how to respond. “I’m fine” was easier to say in the moment. Later, I’d wish I’d told them more.

I feel sad thinking about the times someone tried to reach me and I made it difficult, then took their distance as a sign that they didn’t care. That wasn’t fair to them. I’ve probably believed someone who told me they were fine, too, without realising they were hoping I’d ask again.

If you’re one of those people who tried to be there for me, I’m sorry. There may have been times I seemed okay with you while quietly holding something against you. I wish I’d told you what was wrong. I also wish I’d thanked you more for the help you gave me, instead of spending so much time thinking about what was missing.

I still hope you’ll ask a little more sometimes. And when you do, I hope I can tell you how I really am.