"No. How are YOU doing?"

It was a very odd question that she asked me. I hadn't heard it said this particular way in quite some time. You see, I have been the "wife of an addict", "the girl with the ill mother" and other signifiers that I would not have dreamed would belong to me.

What she asked me made me stop in my tracks. I probably stuttered and stared off for a suspicious amount of time before answering. I'm actually not sure I gave a real answer, because I don't know the real answer.

My friend, as we sat at the restaurant, she simply asked,

"No. How are YOU doing?"

It caught me by surprise. Me? No one cares about how I am doing, they want to know how HE is doing, how my mom is doing, if I have heard from my problematic brother, you know, the usual. They want to know what's happening around me, basically, but not TO me. Not inside of me. I looked away for a minute trying to conjure up some sort of sentence that sounded kind of upbeat or hopeful, I wanted to keep the conversation light and not dig deep into the darkness that I have the misfortune of living in every day. And that's simply because I'm known as the funny one, the happy one, the outgoing, bubbly and personable one, that's good with people and always has a positive, upbeat attitude.

I can be some of those, but I am not always those things.

Most days I cannot muster the energy to roll out of my bed. My mattress that lays on the floor of my rental home, next to bookcase filled with dusty books that I tell myself I should start reading again. I tell myself, "Okay. You're going to get up at 8am tomorrow, and you are going to take your dogs for a walk/hang out with your family/insert task here that should be done but won't be done because I will inevitably reset my alarm to ring to give me JUST enough time to get ready for work." I feel weak and fatigued, like I could absolutely use 8 more hours of sleep and if I didn't have to go to work, I would easily use. It takes me what feels like hours to actually wake up. I am functioning, but mostly going through the motions of life.

I am diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Depression keeps me in bed. Fear of the day ahead keeps me there as well. But I have to work to keep the roof over my head. Because if I don't, no one will.

Sometimes I feel like I just can't live another day in my head. If I'm asleep I can't think. I can't think about the day ahead and what I am dealing with every day in my life and in my head. I can't blame it all on him, though. I blame my brain for some of it. But he definitely has had an effect on the
things that are already not working properly inside.

So, to answer the question...how am I doing? I am not well. I am a mess. I am constantly at battle with myself and my surroundings. This is never where I thought I would be at this age. It's even harder because of the line of work I am in, I make friends with people who are much younger than me. I see them living their life so seemingly carefree, I see their friendships, I see their relationships, I see them going camping and on vacations and seeing movies. I don't feel like I've been really alive, really living my own life, in a long time.


But, I can assure you that life wasn't always this way. He used to be carefree, and funny and hard-working. He loved the outdoors and animals and carnival rides. He liked to skateboard and to drink all my soda when he swore he didn't want one for himself.

But his parents, like most, made mistakes. What they did and what happened to him when he was young shaped him into the shell of himself he is now. He is sad, he is lonely, the only time he even tries to be "funny" or "fun" anymore is when he is high but trying to act like he's not. He's always sick. He doesn't want to go outside and live life, he wants to lay on the couch and it's like the couch has a hold on him like my bed does with me. He can't muster up the energy to get up, so he doesn't. I can't muster it either, but I force myself to, because my I have to. I force myself to. It's not an option for me. But I enable it to be an option for him.

He was diagnosed with PTSD, depression and anxiety, a lot of it stemming from childhood trauma. A few years ago, his PTSD flared up after a certain event happened with his family and it turned him into a ghost. But for now. I guess he's my ghost.

"My ghost, where'd you go? I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me. My ghost, where'd you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be?" - Halsey