Expected Answer

“So, how are things going?” the teacher asks. She smiles at me. I know which answer she expects to hear from me, but a million other things I could say run around in my head. What should I say?
That I’m checking my weight multiple times a day ‘cause I’m afraid I’ll get too fat?
That I’m fighting against the urge of picking up the blade and slice my skin again?
That I feel terrible guilty for feeling the way I do, ‘cause I know there are millions of people who have it a lot worse than me?
That I started to think I’m not meant to be happy?
That there’s a voice in my head that tells me no-one will ever love me?
That I hate myself for starting all of this?
That I’m afraid that I’ll never become a better dancer?
That I can’t make myself work hard for school and other stuff I really want to do right?
That I feel terrible when I get a note that’s good, yet it doesn’t feel good enough?
That I never feel good enough?
I don’t know.
And because I don’t know what to say, I just play safe. So I smile back at her and say:
“Everything’s fine.”