Fine. Thanks for Asking.

It's been a whole ten seconds since you thought things might be okay. Now you couldn't remember what on earth possessed you to think so.

That was crossing the parking lot, of course. You wouldn't have dared think highly of anything while in your college. Even now, heading to the car to get the books you will need for next class, you can't help but feel the gray brick building behind you watching you as you go. When you first stepped out in the sunshine, the pale morning and distant rush of cars almost seemed serene. You could forget that you had just failed a major exam. You could forget how little you slept last night.

Hell…You could forget a lot of things.

The gravel road seems distant, even under your feet. Surreal. It doesn't take you long to get to your car, the nagging feeling of failure still eating away at your insides.  You wrap your sweater a little closer around you, wishing you had thought of grabbing a real coat this morning instead of your mother's old sweater. It probably wouldn't have mattered…You didn't have time this morning. You were late, remember?

The car is dirty and cold, with books and papers scattering everywhere. Old assignments and new projects clutter the foot rest and the passenger seat, each chucked unceremoniously in the back in the search for a heavy, dull-colored computer hand-book.  Now, if you could only find the assignment sheet among all those junk pages….

Okay, Okay…so your life is a little disorganized. Whose isn't? And maybe you never intended for things to get this chaotic, but you're an artist; a person of passion.  When faced with a new problem you quickly decide what must be sacrificed and what is truly important.  At the time teachers were demanding assignments and you were already fifteen minutes late for class, taking another ten to organize what you were sorting through just didn't seem logical. Now, you think wistfully, grabbing a fistful of black-dusted papers, it seemed positively insane not to.  Privately you note that your bag needs to be cleaned. The charcoal from art class has begun to wage war with the rest of your classes, determined that everything should carry a fine layer of black grit. Glancing away from your dirty fingers, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror and sigh.

You're plain...and ugly.

I guess that really shouldn't bother you. You don't know why it does. Logically, you have okay features, and sometimes (in the right setting) you have a certain warmth and familiarity about you. This isn't the right circumstances. Your clothes don't fit you properly (probably because none of them are yours). There's charcoal on your face, sticking deep into your pores. The top of your forehead is red and irritated, as if preparing to break out at any moment. Your lips and chapped, your eyes are dull, and your hair needed to be washed a day ago. It wouldn't have made a difference; at your best, you are most people's worst. You don't care. You don't care. You don't care. Beauty doesn't mean anything. You either have it or you don't.

But you're an artist, remember? You know what beauty is supposed to look like. That fading image…you can't get it out of your mind. If only your nose was a little less round…if only your skin was pale and porcelain.

If only
... if only
... if only…

Then maybe they wouldn't have left. Maybe you wouldn't be alone.
Every.
Day.

No. You're not going to think about that right now. You have things to do. You're a grown up now, and grown up college kids don't let anything bother them. Outside the sky is turning a pale baby blue. You wish you had slept more last night. You wish you hadn't just failed your test. Maybe if your stupid art teacher had not kept you in class so late, you may have had a shot at sleeping well last night. Maybe you would have done better. You know that's a sad excuse, but it certainly feels better than the blazing 'I fail at life' that a little voice in your head chimes over and over again...

It wasn't like you didn't try. You studied every day, got yourself a tutor and attended every class. You know you are a good student and anyone who doesn't believe you can check your GPA or ask a teacher. It's just, faced with that ever important Mid-term your hands had suddenly turned sweaty. For the life of you, you couldn't remember how to have a conversation in Spanish. In your entire life you could never learn a foreign language…what made you think you could do it now? You always put a hundred and ten percent into your work, but now…Well, no wonder kid's dropped out.

Your phone buzzes. At first, you smile, thinking perhaps a friend has thought about you or wants to get together. Watching the screen, you groan. Two of your bosses want you to work more hours. You haven't made your sales quota in your other job…you know, the fourth out of the five jobs you have. One of your co-workers needs you to cover for her. A fellow student wants to know what the homework assignments that you have no time or prospect of finishing are, and your mother has decided now is the perfectly opportune time for you to clean your room. Your brother wants you to know that if you park your car close to his in the driveway again, he will kill you. You know better than to think he is joking. Finally, one of your students wants you to know she can't come to class tonight. Why hold it if there are no students? And do you really have the time to be teaching a one person class when you don't even have time to sleep anymore?

Across the parking-lot several students talk amongst themselves as they head towards the double entrance doors. You almost smile, missing your own group of friends that had long scattered since school started. You wished they were here now. You miss them.

And you have a secret.

You see, a few nights ago, you took a depression test. You knew you wouldn't do well on it. Not with the way things were going. But you still hadn't expected what had happened.

The mid-term was not the only thing you flunked.

You really should be on medication. You really should be in therapy. Yea, right, you think. Like you are going to talk to some stuffed-shirt atheist about how you can't stand how distant you and God feel…How you would do anything not to feel like He has abandoned you. How you feel like you trusted Him and he handed you a snake, and now you are floundering. You can't trust anyone anymore. Never again….This almost killed you. Next time certainly will. You weren't good enough. You got abandoned. Thrown away…and maybe if it had been the first time it would have been okay. It wasn't.

It was every time. All the time. By everyone you had ever loved, and everyone who had ever loved you.

Now that you think about it, you guess they never really loved you at all.

How could you explain to a therapist that you needed to talk to God so badly, to demand answers, that you were willing to die if that's what it took?

The truth is, you didn't sleep last night because your own thoughts had kept you awake. You had tried not to cry this time, but it was happening before you could stop it. Once again, you spent a night scrounging your dirty room for tissues, sobs only broken by the occasional attempt to catch a flea biting your arms and legs. Dratted little things…if you were not already thousands of dollars in debt, you would invest in every product known to man to get rid of them. The insecticide you had already sprayed all over your bed certainly wasn't helping. Hell, you could complain like this for hours about everything that's going wrong, but what good would it do you? Would it make a difference?

No..No it wouldn't.

For all your attempts at keeping your secret…crying only when you are sure no one can hear, speaking to no one, faking the smiles, answering 'Fine' to every 'how are you', listening to loud music and watching endless hours of anything that will get your mind off your troubles, praying every second of every day for deliverance; for all of these useless attempts, you are still being thwarted by the screams behind shut lips…You're going to burst at any moment. You can feel it in passing polite conversation, that desperate scream breaking through your throat. You want to grab someone and say "I can't sleep at night. I can't get up in the morning. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be me anymore! Help me!"

Every time, something stops you. Every time, you simply smile it away….It seemed impossible to think you had ever really been happy. It seems impossible to think you had trusted God a few months ago…knew he wouldn't lead you down a primrose path to abandon you at the bottom. Well, you think bitterly…here I am.

They say wait. They say "trust". So you will. You'll keep going. What else is there?

Back inside school you wave to the security guard, smiling without feeling any true joy as he smiles back. Occasionally you recognize someone in the hallway.

"Heyyy! How was the test?"

"Eh, it was okay." You lie, grinning a little broader. "How are you?"
"Great! And you?"
You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You begin to speak, but stop…and stay silent. Then, after a moment:

"Great! Thanks for asking."