What "fine" really means

When you pass me in the hall and ask me how I am, and I say "fine," you smile and say something else polite.

I'm not fine.

I don't say that I'm dying inside today. That the way you speak annoys me. That talking to you is painful because of what we could have been to each other. That my back is aching from that last 100 pounds creeping up from my ass and more than anything I want to lie down and weep. That I'm afraid of never loving someone even though the thought of being that vulnerable scares me to death. That I keep an inventory of valuables in my head and wonder what I'll have to sell to pay the bills. That I'd love to look like you. That I don't know what I believe anymore. That I'm trying not to cry. That staying here one more minute is unbearable. That I will turn 30 soon and my last kiss was when I was 5 and that makes me sad. That I don't understand why you'd want to hug me. That I don't think I'm worth it because a guy told me once that I wasn't.

I don't say that I wish you'd ask me "are you sure" because you can see that my smile does not reach my eyes.