"...someone out there..."
Here's the brutal truth: people don't really want to know how you're doing, not really. They ask because they're trained to, like it's some kind of social reflex. But when you actually start to open up, you can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices-they're already somewhere else. They don't want your mess, your heaviness. They just want the usual "i'm fine" so they can move on and feel like they did their part.
And I get it. Life's hard enough without carrying someone's else weight, too. Everyone's got their own problems, their own worries gnawing away at them, so they keep their heads down, stay in their lane. But that's what's messed up, isn't it? We're all so busy trying to hold ourselves together that we've forgotten how to be there for anyone else. We're islands, drifting along in our own little worlds, passing each other by without ever really connecting.
But here's the thing-no one talks about the price of living like that. Of bottling it all up, keeping your pain to yourself because you think no one wants to hear it. It's like carrying around a weight that gets heavier every day, and sooner or later, it starts to crush you. And by the time you finally realize you need to let it out, it's too late. You've forgotten what it even feels like to share something real and profound with another person.
So yeah, maybe they don't really want to know how you're doing, or if there's anything they can do to help. But maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe you've got to tell them anyway, for your own sake, for your own sanity. Because at the end of the day, that's what we need more of-people willing to speak up, to say "i'm not fine." even if no one's listening. Because maybe, just maybe, someone out there is.