Why I Struggle with “How are you?”

I walk into the grocery store and head towards the pharmacy. It’s time for yet another prescription refill. I’ve been there so many times in the last few months that all the pharmacy staff know me by name and no longer have to ask when looking up my file in the computer. I approach the desk and the pharmacist smiles and says, “Hi, Rebecca. How are you today?” I muster up a smile and try to somewhat cheerfully say, “I’m good, thanks!” He then proceeds to ask me why I’m there and what I need today, knowing full well that I’m really not doing “good”. I wouldn’t be there otherwise. One glance at the lengthy sheet of prescriptions for antidepressants and anti-psychotics on my file would be enough to tell anyone, let alone a pharmacist, that I’m struggling.

Ever since I was taken off of work in December because my Mental Health had tanked (which started to cause my body to shut down), I’ve avoided interacting with people. Now, there are a lot of reasons for that, including Massive Debilitating Panic Attacks, but it’s also because I panic and don’t know how to answer that “go to” question for basic social interaction- “How are you?”
How.
Are.
You.
Comprised of three words. Three little words. Three three-letter words. Words that shouldn’t seem threatening. A question that’s not supposed to feel dangerous. Rather the opposite, in fact, it’s supposed to display politeness and care. But to me, that question… It paralyzes me.

Now, I obviously know how to “fake it to make it” and provide the socially acceptable “I’m well, and you?” Or if I’m feeling especially appeasing, I’ll muster an “I’m good and yourself?!” Now for most, that would be it. They asked. You answered. Interaction over. No threat. But for me… for me it’s a whole different story.

You see, for the last four months, I have been terrified to leave my house. I have massive panic attacks when I try to and I can only muster up the strength to leave when I a) am going to see my therapist which is a time I look forward to b) need to go see my doctor c) when I need to go to the pharmacy. I can leave for these things because I know I have to. If I don’t, things will get worse. And I’m not sure how much more of the “worse” I can handle.

But otherwise, I’ve been a prisoner inside my own house, retreating from the world because of questions like, “How are you?”

Now I know that most people just ask it to be polite and don’t really want to hear more than a “Good, you?” kind of response. In reality, I have nothing to fear. But in my brain, I panic because I don’t know what to say. Or if I have the strength to utter the lie that I’m fine.

Y’all, fighting a battle inside your head daily is incredibly exhausting. Half the time, I don’t even know why I feel the way I do or what to do about it. Every little thing becomes exhausting… getting out of bed, brushing my teeth, driving to the pharmacy and then trying to find the strength and energy to give a polite answer when all I want to do is scream, “I AM NOT OKAY!”

I’m not fine. I’m not good or well or any of those polite answers people give. I’m the exact opposite. There are times when I’m literally wondering how I am going to safely survive the two minute ride home from the pharmacy when my brain just keeps screaming, “Just die, it’ll be easier”. I am so busy fighting the thoughts in my head every single second that when you ask me how I am, I’m paralyzed.

Because if I told you how I really was, you’d call the police or awkwardly shrug it off and be like, “too much information, girl”. But every ounce of my strength is going to taming the wild thoughts in my head and breathing through fits of panic that when you ask that one simple question, it’s like everything freezes for a second. My brain and my body are trying so hard to keep me alive that that one little question is enough to overload my circuits and cause a momentary blackout. And then begins the internal monologue trying to figure my way through to an answer.

{{{How am I? I don’t know. I’m so confused by the thoughts and feelings I seemingly have no control over. I feel miserable. Numb. I’m counting down the seconds until I can get out of here and run back home. Your question reminded me of all these feelings, about how desperately I wish I could say, “I’m good” and mean it. I start wondering what it would even feel like to be
good. To not hurt this bad every moment of every day. Then I start to blame myself, thinking if I just tried a little harder, or pleased this one person, things would be different. I’d be good. Deep down, I know that’s not true. I have years upon years of hurt and trauma that I’ve been burying since I was 4. I know it’s not my fault because my brain wasn’t mature enough to process things properly then. But wait, they asked how I am… What do I say?}}}

On Sunday, I had to return to a place that my body and brain cannot forget how unsafe I felt there. I had to not only enter the building, but the room where I was physically abused. I saw items that reminded me of the person. Saw pictures. Stood in the very spot where the worst abuse happened. And was it ever triggering. I knew before hand that it was going to be tough, so I had my mom come with me & the help of Ativan to keep me from having full blown panic attacks. As I packed up a few of my belongings, all I could feel was the crushing emotions of fear, terror, anxiety and pain. So I began to do what I’ve done for years to survive- I dissociated.

Basically, that means I withdraw from everything, trying to find that one internal spot where safety feels real. I push all my emotions, good and bad, down so far that I no longer can feel them, because to me, in that moment, feeling them is dangerous. I essentially become numb. For how long? It depends.

I’ve been numb this entire week. Sunday shook me. I was back in the place that my nightmares and flashbacks came from. And everything seemed so real again. And it was too much. So my brain went into survival mode – it’s trying to keep me alive. To keep those horribly scary thoughts away from me. And sadly, I’m still there.

All this week, my family has been asking how I am and my answer has remained the same. I don’t know. I feel numb. I don’t feel anything bad, but I also don’t feel anything good.

I was able to come spend time with my family for Easter, something I normally feel excitement and joy over. But I feel nothing. I get to go on a girls trip with my mom to Disney World on Monday, a trip we had booked long before my 8 months of hell started, and I feel no excitement towards it. And those of you who know me know how much I love Disney so me not being excited for my first trip to Disney is a BIG DEAL.

I literally feel nothing. I’m just here. My body is present but my mind isn’t. My mind is somewhere deep in my subconscious, holding on tight to some memory of safety. Just trying to keep me going.

So now maybe you can see why that simple question of “How are you?” really isn’t that simple. Because for some of us, we don’t know how we are. We are numb. Not sure what the next hour holds for us. What the next minute holds. I know you mean to be polite, I know you mean well, but I hate having to answer that question. I hate having to use what little strength I have left to lie and say, “I’m fine.” Because I’m not. And truthfully, I won’t be for a while. It was years of repeated trauma that led me here, and it will take a lot of hard work and therapy to process and heal from it. Heal to the point where I could one day say, “I’m good” and mean it.

So, the next time you ask me how I am, and if I don’t answer or just mumble some random words, don’t be offended. It’s not you. It is just my bodies way of trying to stay alive for another minute. And if you’re also feeling this same way, know you’re not alone. Know that I have sometimes just ignored the cashier because answering was too much. Sometimes, I’ll pretend to be on hold on my phone so I don’t have to talk. Because it’s too much, and that’s ok.

Our bodies are smart, and they want to survive. And even when we dissociate and go numb, there are people who love and care for you. You don’t have to share your whole story with everyone you meet, but I hope each and every one of you has someone you feel comfortable saying, “I don’t know how I am. I feel numb. Nothing”. Because you deserve to be heard. And it’s ok to have these feelings. And though they might not understand it or know what it’s like, I hope they’ll respond with, “That’s okay. I’ll be here loving you the whole time”. Because you are loved. So, very loved.

So keep fighting, dear ones. Sit with your emotions, let yourself feel them. Know you’re allowed to feel things, even the unpleasant emotions. Just try not to get stuck there. Fight like hell to make it out. And know that I’m here, fighting right beside you.
Love,
Becca