03/05/2026 Always Okay

Sometimes, I get the feeling that my mother knows. Not the full, ugly truth of it, not the details I lock away, but the shape of my struggle. She has a hunch, a maternal instinct that pierces through the walls I build. I'm at an age where most mothers' worries are painted in the bright, cautionary colors of rebellion; bad company, late nights, getting into trouble. But her worry for me is different. It’s softer, quieter, and in its own way, much louder. She doesn't ask where I've been. She asks if I've rested enough. She doesn't warn me about the dangers of the world outside, she worries if I've eaten enough to face the world within.

No, Maa. I’m sorry. But your son is just tired.

Not the good kind of tired that comes from a long, honest day’s work. Not the tired that promises a deep, dreamless sleep. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t touch. There is no escape from it. I’ve learned that if I don’t run myself ragged, if I don’t push my body until it aches and my mind is blank with fatigue, then the quiet becomes a dangerous thing. If I stop, the thoughts don’t just come; they descend. They are the monsters you used to assure me weren't real, the ones hiding in the closet and under the bed. I know now they were never outside. They were always here, waiting in the silence.

And when they take hold, the abyss I usually manage to tiptoe around expands. Its edges crumble beneath my feet, and I find myself looking into a darkness so vast it feels like it might swallow the very memory of the light. The physical exhaustion is a shield, you see. It’s a way to keep the monsters at bay. It’s a bargain I’ve made with myself: my body for my mind.

But I will never tell her this. Because when she looks at me with those soft, worried eyes, I see the hope in them. And I can’t bear to be the one to extinguish it.

So, I will be okay. I have to be. I will give her the answer she needs to hear, the one that lets her sleep at night. I will straighten my back, offer a half-smile, and say the words that have become my shield and my curse: I am always okay.