“I’m good, thanks for asking.”
I don’t lie. I’m not good at it, never been actually. Putting on the work face is what I’m good at. Work face includes making other people comfortable. At ease. Happy.
I can’t remember the last time I was overcome with bliss. I feel like bliss is an essential part of happiness.
I’m not angry, or sad, or happy. It’s nothing. It’s a vast, blank, nothingness. Sometimes I get surges of excitement, or frustration, but I can’t seem to cling to those responses for long. I doubt I’m depressed. That feels too easy.
There is a monotonous feeling to my life these days, though. Sleep when I can. Eat when I have time. Smile. Breathe. Sleep again.
So, yeah. Saying, “I’m good,” feels like a lie.