Hey, Are You Okay?

What do you do when your mind collapses on itself, when the entire world seems bleak and empty? What do you do when your body gives up, and even walking across the room to pick up the TV remote seems like a tiring chore? What do you do when exhaustion overtakes you, when the action of putting on a fake smile and pretending everything is okay destroys what's little of your sanity? She’s been wondering this for a while, from the comfort of her bedroom. That's the only place she can think, without any distractions except for the growing pile of books in her room. At school she feels like a ghost, invisible to everyone but the few people who choose to notice her. But even those people flutter away after a while, after the thought of having to ask her, "How are you?" every day begins to dawn on them. The stress hurts.

The only thing is, nobody understands this stress she feels. Sometimes, she just wants to let the tidal wave of negativity wash over her like waves over a shore. She wants to drown in this treacherous feeling. Smiles become too hard to fake, emotions too strong to mask, until she’s crying at midnight, or someone comes in and catches tears leaking from her eyes no matter how hard she tries to suppress them. Then she has to talk, tell them what's going on and answer whatever questions they may have. It's never done anything except made her try holding out longer, to avoid the interaction. Sometimes, she just wants to sit with her poisoning thoughts and figure them out herself, using what little strength she has left. A text bleeps on the screen of her phone, the noise chiming throughout the room.

Hey, are you okay?

The effort it takes for her to type back a simple, "Yeah, I'm fine," is excruciating. She appreciates the limited effort it takes to ask someone that, expecting a waterfall of worries and woes and stressors, but it doesn't make her feel any better. Instead, she picks up a book and rifles through it, trying to let the pretty words and complex sentences distract her. The sky is cloudy outside the window, reflecting the emotions trapped inside. "Are you hungry?" Her mother's soft voice flutters up the stairs. "No," she calls back, cradling her hungry stomach. She doesn’t want to go downstairs, and let the rest of her family see her tear-stained cheeks and watery red eyes. It seems impossible to avoid, but she will, for as long as possible. "Vee?" The door creaks open and her dad comes in, looking uneasy. "Yeah?" She sits up, swiping her sleeve across her cheeks. "Are you okay?" She nods. "I'm good, Dad." He pauses, taking a look at her face. She knows he sees the hidden sadness. She never could hide anything from him, or those closest to her.

"Tell me what's wrong," he says. "I don't know what’s wrong," she replies, which is the truth. Before she knows it, she’s unloading everything that goes on in her head. He stays silent, and she knows he's going to say something about how she needs to think positively. But how can she think positively if her brain will only let negative thoughts loose? Every hint of happiness gets scribbled over in permanent ink, leaving nothing but the darkness and the lingering hints of hope hidden underneath. Instead, he surprises her by saying, "What do you think you should do about it? I don’t think you’re trying hard enough to be happy, and that you aren’t asking yourself what’s wrong. But what do you think would help?" All of what he just said is true, and she doesn’t like that. What does she think she should do about it? She doesn’t know, and it startles her. "I think I should just keep doing what you said," she tells him. A minuscule part of her is only saying that so he'll go away, but a much greater part is filled with belief that it'll work. He nods, and proceeds to leave.

Weeks pass, and her hands become less sweaty in class, her mind flickering between the two paths before her. Does she choose to let everything go, and try fighting the anxiety that controls her everyday life? That seems to be the most logical answer. It's the thing she’s always wanted. It feels like she’s sitting in the passenger seat of her own car, watching as someone else drives. A stubborn part of her surges forward, and she feels herself relax over the hour. Her body feels less weighted, her sleep less clouded with bad thoughts and daydreams turned into nightmares. She feels a rise in her feelings, over time, a happy-go-lucky attitude taking place of the irritation and tense panic she feels whenever something doesn’t go as expected. Over a matter of days, her father sees the change in her. Smiles come easier, and she notices it too.

Sometimes she wonders why it’s changing, but doesn’t want to jinx it. One day she wakes up, glancing out the window like she used to. Only now, the world doesn’t feel like she’s been viewing it through rose-tinted glasses. She sees the bright blue of the sky, the lack of dark storm clouds. She notices the long branches of trees, now speckled with little pink-green buds. The grass is growing greener with the snow gone, the beginnings of flowers sprouting through the dirt. She feels like she’s transitioning between winter and spring, the good and bad. For a while, everything feels okay. But it doesn’t take long before powdery snow turns to slush, and a sprinkling of spring rain turns to disagreeable weather.

But, she thinks, she can get past it. If not for herself, then for her father who does everything right, and tries so hard to make sure she’s happy. For her friends at school, who shouldn’t feel the urge to ask how she’s doing every morning. For the part of her that cares too much about the world, and the part of her that cares too little about herself. She will, she decides, face it. She will, she chooses, emerge victorious. In that moment, it feels like she’s coming out of a year-long hibernation. Before, she was shielded from the snow and hail, the rain and icy wind. But now? Now, she gets to stop and smell the roses.