"How are you?"

"How are you?" they ask.

They always ask that.

It's become a standard greeting, a standard question. It's lost its significance. No one really stops to think about what they're really asking.

How are you?

I usually give a standard response to the standard question.

My lips shape the word, or my fingers type the four letter word.

Okay.

Because what else am I supposed to say? They don't really care how I am. They're just starting conversation. It's an unwritten rule that you must lie. You grit your teeth, hold back the tears, and give your standardized response. 

I'm okay.

I'm fine.

I'm alright.

These are the responses that are expected if you can't give an honest "I'm doing swell how about yourself?" 

Because you can't let them know that you're falling apart. You can't let them know that your heart hurts, that your lungs ache, or that sometimes you just wish that you could disappear.

Vanish.

Poof.

I can't let them know.

They don't know what they're asking. They're simply striking up conversation, they don't want to know. They don't want to be burdened. So you take pity on them and give them the expected answer.

Okay.

But just once I'd like to be honest. When my phone beeps and the magical question appears on the screen,

"How are you?"

I'd like my lips to form a different word, my fingers to learn knew letters. For my honesty to wring out in my new response.

"How are you?"

"Miserable."

And then they'd understand what they were asking. Perhaps they wouldn't ask me it anymore, because I broke the unwritten rule. I was completely truthful about how I am, I forgot my standard reply. But at least I wouldn't have to lie anymore.

And maybe one day when someone asks

"How are you?" with the upmost sincerity.

It'll be okay to say,

"I'm not okay."