“Away, and mock the time with fairest show;
False face must hide what false heart doth know.” Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 1

Everyone once in a while, someone tells a white lie. And though our parents insist that we will never get away with it, that the lies will just keep getting bigger and bigger until we can’t keep track of them anymore, that rarely happens. And though we mostly avoid lying on a moral basis, we all tell white lies, whether it is to get out of doing chores, or even so you can keep watching TV when you really should be studying for than chemistry test that is coming up. We all do it. But sometimes, those little white lies seep under your skin and become part of you.
“I’m fine.”
That lie is told by nearly everyone person alive at least once in their lifetime. We feel tired, stressed and all we want to do is go home and stop thinking, we go on and pretend everything is alright. And it’s not. It’s really, really not.
“I’m fine,” I lied quietly.
“Are you sure?” My friend asked. “You look… I don’t know, not so good. Are you sleeping alright?”
I lied to her. I knew I looked terrible, and I did. I just wanted to cry all the time. I just wanted to sleep, all the time. But I put on a happy face and trudged on. I know maybe that wasn’t the best thing to – but that lie – “I’m fine” – it became a part of my life, got under my skin.
I hated it – but it was constantly there, nagging me, like a parent does when there is a dirty room in their vicinity.
My falsely happy face hid what my sad, tired heart knew. I was depressed. Getting up day after day was exhausting, and when I finally shed my mask, I saw the bright new day, a day where the happy face was not false, nor was the heart. But every now and then, I utter those fateful words.
“I’m fine.”
And I find that I’m wearing my false face again.