Everyone is always asking me, “How are you?”
And not like in the, “How are you doing today on the glorious sunny Saturday afternoon” sort of way, but more of the, “How are you feeling because you’re always posting on Facebook that you’re in pain and stuff?” sort of way.
And if they ask me in person, they always have this weird look in their eye, like they’re confused by the fact that I don’t really look sick.
Well, I feel like I’m dying pretty much all the time, that’s how I’m doing.
I feel like hell.
I wake everyday feeling like a butcher knife is in my right ribs. And the pain is so horrible that it literally wakes me up in the middle of the night, like a demon that has entered my body.
I feel like sh*t.
And that’s usually what I tell people.
“I fell like hell.”
When the pain pills are working, my answer shifts to, “I’m doing alright, but it’s only because of the hydrocodone.”
I think that response kind of embaresses my boyfriend though. He’s always hushing me. Telling me to stop telling everyone I’m on drugs.
I feel like it’s important to note that though. I feel like people should understand that the only reason I’m currently able to stand upright and have a conversation with them is because I’m on a constant stream of opioids.
Lest they think I’m cured. Or they think I’m not that sick.
Or I don’t know.
I guess it doesn’t really matter what they think.
But I feel the need to tell people. To put it out there: I’m in pain. All the time. And if I’m not, it’s only because I’m on drugs.
I suppose maybe it makes people uncomfortable when I respond that way.
But maybe, one day, someone will say, “How are you?” and I will finally be able to smile and say, “Good.”
And when I say it, I will be able to mean it. And they will know I mean it.
Because I wouldn’t say “Good” if it wasn’t true.