I’m ok.
I’m fine.
I’m just a little tired.

These are phrases that I’ve repeated over and over more to assuage myself than the person that wears the concerned mask on their face when they ask me what’s wrong. No, I’m not ok, no, I’m not fine; I’m a wreck inside, just barely holding it together. I’m sad, angry, hurt all tied up into one and there’s nothing you can do to fix it.

You’ve got other things to worry about than just me. I’ve got other things to worry about than me. So, I push it all down and keep telling myself over and over I’m ok.

Maybe one day that will be true.