I Always Say "I'M Fine
I always say I'm fine. Even when I am not. What concern is it of the asker anyway?
I groomed myself from a young age to be completely self-reliant for all my mental, emotional and physical requirements. My independence is something that is of great personal value to me. I pride myself in it.
Therefore, whenever someone asks me if I am okay: I always say I am fine. Even when my world is falling apart, even when I'm about to cry. Even when I've been pushed over the edge, even when all I want to do is die... I always say "I'm fine." Why then do I lie about it? Because all of these things are within my abilities to fix. Why involve someone else when I can resolve it myself? And secondly, I don't like exposing my fragility to others. They are just as likely to exploit it as they are to help. So I always say I'm fine, and hope the asker can take the hint.
But then came the day someone asked me if I was okay, and I couldn't lie... I most definitely was not okay, and I couldn't fix it myself. I was on the Gautrain, on my way back home after a five day binge. It was late afternoon and the train was packed, so I had to stand.
At first everything was fine, I was a bit annoyed by all the people, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Then my vision started to blur... Then darken... Then everything was black. There was nothing. I was still conscious, but I couldn't see. I rubbed my eyes profusely, but my vision did not return. Then I was hit by a sudden wave of lightheadedness. All my strength drained rapidly and I could do nothing but blindly grasp onto the railing and hope that I don't lose consciousness on this fast-moving train. I noticed all was silent. Had my hearing gone too? But then I heard a voice speak out to me above the silence and ask me that all too familiar question; "Are you okay?" I wanted to say I am fine, but couldn't. What would be the purpose? I was not fine. I had no idea what was happening to me or if it will ever end.
I said to this stranger; No, I am not okay. I can't see. I don't know what is happening to me... I can't see. He asked me where I was supposed to get off of the train and helped me get off at my stop in all my blindness. He led me to a bench where I sat down for a while. My vision partially returned, but faded as soon as I'd move. But I needed to get home. He bought me a cool drink and sat with me until I was back to normal again. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but after the weekend I had, I had to decline. After I gained a grip on myself, I thanked the man, and walked home. I still have no idea what happened to me on that train, but I know I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for that stranger's help.
But I am back to normal now. Self-reliant and independent. And I will always say I'm fine... Within reason.
I groomed myself from a young age to be completely self-reliant for all my mental, emotional and physical requirements. My independence is something that is of great personal value to me. I pride myself in it.
Therefore, whenever someone asks me if I am okay: I always say I am fine. Even when my world is falling apart, even when I'm about to cry. Even when I've been pushed over the edge, even when all I want to do is die... I always say "I'm fine." Why then do I lie about it? Because all of these things are within my abilities to fix. Why involve someone else when I can resolve it myself? And secondly, I don't like exposing my fragility to others. They are just as likely to exploit it as they are to help. So I always say I'm fine, and hope the asker can take the hint.
But then came the day someone asked me if I was okay, and I couldn't lie... I most definitely was not okay, and I couldn't fix it myself. I was on the Gautrain, on my way back home after a five day binge. It was late afternoon and the train was packed, so I had to stand.
At first everything was fine, I was a bit annoyed by all the people, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Then my vision started to blur... Then darken... Then everything was black. There was nothing. I was still conscious, but I couldn't see. I rubbed my eyes profusely, but my vision did not return. Then I was hit by a sudden wave of lightheadedness. All my strength drained rapidly and I could do nothing but blindly grasp onto the railing and hope that I don't lose consciousness on this fast-moving train. I noticed all was silent. Had my hearing gone too? But then I heard a voice speak out to me above the silence and ask me that all too familiar question; "Are you okay?" I wanted to say I am fine, but couldn't. What would be the purpose? I was not fine. I had no idea what was happening to me or if it will ever end.
I said to this stranger; No, I am not okay. I can't see. I don't know what is happening to me... I can't see. He asked me where I was supposed to get off of the train and helped me get off at my stop in all my blindness. He led me to a bench where I sat down for a while. My vision partially returned, but faded as soon as I'd move. But I needed to get home. He bought me a cool drink and sat with me until I was back to normal again. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but after the weekend I had, I had to decline. After I gained a grip on myself, I thanked the man, and walked home. I still have no idea what happened to me on that train, but I know I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for that stranger's help.
But I am back to normal now. Self-reliant and independent. And I will always say I'm fine... Within reason.
