I’ve said many lies in my lifetime.
But one of the most used ones was
‘I’m fine’

“How are you doing?”
I’m fine.
“How was your day?”
It’s fine.
“Are you okay?”
I’m. Fine.

And I too, desperately tried to make myself believe that.
I grasped to the possibility that
I. Was. Fine.

Even if I struggled or
I self destructed,
I was fine.

In the process of domestication,
I shut the possibility of
emotional unwellness.

I wanted nothing to do with the
bitter reality,
and the stinging truth,
that maybe:
I wasn’t fine.

So when someone reached out their hand
and offered to walk with me
through the flames.
I hesitated.
The idea of help was almost foreign to me.

I rejected their help,
because I thought I didn’t deserve it.
But it only hurt us more.

In the end I convinced myself.
I was born to die.