A Slight Deviation - "I'm Not Okay And That's the Truth"

I’m writing this because I’m not feeling it today.

Emotionally bankrupt. Numb.

Like I’m just here – filling space…background noise…an afterthought…a utility…someone people reach for as a last resort…unimportant, unseen, and definitely not okay.

There’s this hollow place inside me screaming for something more, but I don’t even know what that “more” is.

Love? Peace? Purpose? I’d settle for just a good night’s sleep.

It’s quiet today. And that’s the worst part.

Because when it’s quiet, I can’t distract myself.

When it’s quiet, the lies I tell myself get louder.

And when it’s quiet…I start to believe them.

So here it is. No polish. No performance.

I am not okay.

In just over five months, my oldest turns 21. In two months, my youngest will walk across a stage and into the next chapter of his life – off to college, chasing a dream and playing Division 1 rugby.

My wife is constantly traveling for work. She’s brilliant, driven, successful. She always has been. And me? I’m here. Holding it all together…or at least pretending to.

I’ve spent years putting my own dreams on the backburner, telling myself it was temporary. That the sacrifices I made were out of love – which they were. That there’d be time later – which there might not be. Because somewhere along the way, “later” started to feel a whole lot like “never.” And now? Now I’m wondering if the window’s closed for good…or if I just can’t find it anymore.

Most days, I feel alone. Even in crowded rooms. Even in my own home.

I chase moments that make me forget how old I am. I laugh too loud. Act a little wild. Crack one too many Natural Lights. Not because I want attention – but because I’m trying to outrun that voice whispering reminders of my own mortality. And lately, that voice is getting louder.

Every December, I put on the Santa suit. I collect donations for kids and families who need a break, a meal, a little bit of hope. I don’t do it for recognition – I do it because I believe in the power of kindness and the magic of a single moment. But here’s the truth – even while I’m lighting up faces and hearing kids whisper their wishes in my ear, I feel it slipping away. That wonder, that spark…the knowledge that eventually even Santa fades into memory.

That’s the thing about getting older: everything starts to fade. The connections feel thinner. The silence in your own house feels louder. The smiles start to feel more forced. And all the noise we surround ourselves with? It starts to feel like a cover for something deeper that’s missing.

I live loud, fast, and unfiltered. It’s a blessing and a curse. I barrel into rooms. Sometimes I shine with charisma. Other times, I disappear inside myself. But no matter what, I always play big. Big confidence. Big presence. It’s a mask, of course. Underneath? It’s chaos. A mess of anxiety, self-doubt, and quiet self-loathing. And an ever-present middle finger to the idea of fitting in.

I stir things up – I know that. Friends, family, strangers…I provoke something in people. Passion. Curiosity. Sometimes even disgust. I speak the truth, too harshly at times. I care – probably too much. I give – definitely too much. I’ll bleed for the wrong people and burn for them too. And still, somehow, I end up the one feeling disposable.

But no one really asks if I’m okay.

Because everyone thinks I am. Better than okay, even. They look at my family and assume we’re made of money. Like we can spend without pause. Like I can just up and quit a job where I’m undervalued and taken advantage of. But the truth is, I stay because I’ve never really learned how to say no. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what everyone else needs. I’m a pleaser. Not because it’s noble – because it’s all I’ve ever known.

And it’s exhausting.

I don’t live. I detonate. My words, my actions – they’re grenades. And somehow, despite the noise, I always find my way into the rawest parts of people – the places they hide. The damage. The regret. The sins. I don’t mean to. I just…do. Maybe because I carry so many of my own.

I’m alive, yeah. I hum with energy. Always ready to act, to escape, to chase something that makes me feel. But the quiet moments? They terrify me. Because it’s in the quiet that all the questions creep in. The ones I try to drown out with libations and volume and motion.

I’m not asking for pity. I don’t want a pep talk or a sermon. I’m not looking for solutions. But maybe – just maybe – I want someone to notice. To stop. To simply ask –

“Hey, man…you doing okay?”

Because sometimes, even the guy who gives the shirt off his back just needs someone to offer theirs.to offer theirs.