I’m fine.

Really. I am. Just ask anyone. They all know. They see my smiling face each day. They hear the words of positivity flowing from my lips. I'm perfectly fine. Everything is okay. 

I mean, sure, I feel lost sometimes. And maybe I want to scream at the world. And occasionally I cry myself to sleep because of the invisible gouges I feel. But that's not important. I'm fine. I always have been. Even when I can't eat because of anxiety. Or when I can't find the motivation to pick myself up off of the floor. Or when I have to run away from others so I don't concern them with my waterlogged, bloodshot eyes and return with a slightly less convincing smile. Or when that emptiness in my chest is gnawing away at itself to create a larger, gaping black hole that can never be filled. During it all, I promise you, I'm fine. Just look at how happy I am to see you. Listen to my laugh. Would someone who's not fine be able to laugh like that? No. I didn't think so.