"You are okay!"

The lies we tell each other and the truth we must realize.

“You are okay,” my mother would say. “You have a mother who loves you. A sister who cherishes you and a father who is proud of you. I think you are fine.”

Affection- my mom's secret behind happiness.

“You are okay, I think so. Your education is paid for and you have food on the table whenever you want. You have a home, a family and we can afford to live in a way most people can't,” my father would say knowingly.

Money was his recipe for contentment.

“You are okay. You have me as a sister. Imagine having someone else. They would treat you so badly,” my sister would say half-joking, half-serious.

Narcissism and laughter was what kept my sister alive.

“You are okay babe,” my girlfriend would console me. “How many people have the things you do? How many people had the pleasure of experiencing so much in life? Look at everything you've done and all the people who will remember you forever. You have nothing to be sad about, everything is fine.”

Remembrance and recognition was what my girlfriend thought kept people afloat.

“You are okay dude. Look at all the people in your life. Look at all the friends you have. You are just fine. Your parents are great, your girlfriend is the best, you have us and look at all the other people who care about you. Don't worry, you are okay,” all my friends would try to persuade me.

Kith and kin kept them going.

“You are not okay and I think you know that,” my guidance counselor would tell me honestly. It felt a refreshing change from all the consolation and the dissimulation. “So tell me what's wrong,” he would ask.

“No, I am not okay,” I would validate. “I am not okay hiding what I am.”

“And so, what are you?”

“Imperfect. Faulty. Broken. Incomplete. Defective. Inadequate. I am unsatisfied with the secrets we hide beneath the lies we tell each other. I am disturbed by all the encouragement, the enheartening and the endorsement that my life is all hunky dory. I don't want to be placated, I seek assuage. I want people to realise I am not perfect to the dot and judge me based on that,” I ranted.

I took a deep breath and continued, “I am flawed, not fragile. I don't need to be handled with care. I just need to be understood. I require mental appeasement.”

“Our vulnerabilities don't make us weak, they make us human. They are also the centre of our strength, not our downfall. I want people to realise I am still a work in progress and treat me like that,” I said in one final flourish, absolving myself off everything I've held inside for far too long.

My counselor still had his eyes fixed on me. “Is that all you need?” he enquired, finally stirring from his sitting position. All the while he still gazed at me, his eyes hadn't left my face ever since I started my calm outburst.

“Yes,” I said curtly.

“Then, my friend, you don't need me. You are okay!”