How Are You?

For many (say 4) nights in a row I have slept pretty good, for me.  I know if others experienced these nights, would probably have something else to say.  But I’m happy with how I feel.  Wow.  Happy.  That’s a miracle to me.  I almost feel like a “normie” – what I call an able-bodied person.  And yet.  There is also a nervousness in me like I’m looking over my shoulder wondering how long this stretch will last.  Another night?  Please?  The rest of my life?  Please?  I know the last plea is highly unlikely, but I like to hold out for a miracle.

     Do you ever have good days?  What do they look like?  Do you get nervous about another shoe dropping like me?

     So today I’ll have a “good” day I imagine.  I’ll be more active.  I won’t feel this pressure to act “normal” around others like I usually feel.

     Which brings be to this topic: “how are you?”  I’ve come to hate that question.  It makes me feel squirmy.  And sometimes resentful.  Do people really want to know the answer.  Sometimes I bump into others at the local natural food store, people I don’t know really well, but well enough to stop my cart and say hi.  And as usual they ask, “How are you?”.  Sometimes, because I just don’t feel like getting into it, I’ll say “fine” – it’s easier that way.  Sometimes I’ll just shrug my shoulders and make a face which translates into “not so good”.  Sometimes I’ll be bold and say “shitty”.  Sometimes I’ll say, “Right now, I’m good”, which really means “I’m doing my best to stay present because I know when we do everything is pretty much ok that way.” 

     But mostly, unless it’s a good friend, I won’t get into the details.  I don’t think most people really want to know the details.  I don’t think most people really want to know the details.  They don’t want to know I’ve been awake most of the night and that anxiety, dread and self-hate took over.

     I have a good story about this kind of thing though.  Once I was in Safeway and saw a woman from afar, I knew (not well) who had cancer and was going through treatment.  Our eyes met and after that you can’t pretend you didn’t see each other.  So, I waved and smiled and proceeded to push my cart up to her and she shook her head vehemently and turned away.  I received her message loud and clear, that she did not want to interact whatsoever.  I didn’t take it at all personally.  I understood.  And I appreciated her honesty.  Perhaps next time someone I don’t know well asks me how I’m doing and it’s a difficult day for me, I can be just as honest and say something like, “Not well.  And I don’t want to talk about it.  And I don’t want to know how you’re doing because I’m too tired to listen to your story, whatever it is.  I can’t be polite.”  And then walk away.      What do you think?

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