I’m perfectly fine, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself - and I would like to believe that I am.
“Are you okay?”
I am always faced with this question. My usual and predictable answer is a nod and a reassuring smile that instantly shadows over my aching vulnerability. You’d never notice. But maybe, if you would look at me closer and a little longer - you’d see the ghost of emptiness that still lurks within me. Maybe, if you could be fast enough to catch my eyes even before I infinitely stare at an invisible spot way past your shoulder - you’d see that these eyes are full of undetected lies. Yes, maybe…if you care. But people could only care less. Who cares anyway? I don’t even think you do.
These people have constantly pictured me as someone who has never known sadness, defeat, misery and pain…someone who has never been down in the dumps…someone who never frowns. There are but a few have the privilege to view the “real me” through an untainted window. I’ve been in this masquerade for God knows how long and I can say that, my act has proven to be quite impressive. Everything’s running smoothly until I finally felt my insides turning to rot and smell of shrouded truth. I hope someone can sniff it off and proclaim the harsh and bitter realities of my life for 19 long years of existence. I could only go so far as to coax myself out of this sinking depression wrapped in an oppressive silence.
“Am I okay?”
Now I’d ask myself this and my answer would have to be yes - and I would probably try so hard to convince myself and insist on believing in something that is purely a prevarication. I cannot fool myself this time. I cannot take another look in the mirror and see the person behind the mask with a smile that struggles through tears, with a kind of expression that is so full of emotion that can be interpreted in a manifold of ways, with a pair of troubled, almost despairing brown eyes which looks back intently at her own reflection that is so real..forlorn and utterly…fragile. There’s no greater pain than seeing yourself so broken and helpless for not having enough power to sustain or to alleviate even half the burden of your loved ones. I feel worthless. Defenseless. Powerless. Every word that has the word “less” attached to it portrays me.
I’m never good enough. I am someone, but a clown.
When my ardor dies down and tears begin to streak and wash away my cosmetic-enhanced, callous face - I pray that God would still continue to knock on the side of my head and whisper in my heart…to keep my sanity and faith intact.
