I’m fine. I wonder how many times a day around the word those words are said. It could mean exactly what it conveys, that they are indeed fine, not happy not sad, but a happy medium. fine. It could be used as a shortcut to explaining another emotion, since emotions are one of the most complicated things about our minds. Because of this, it seems reasonable that the human language has a word we can use if we do not feel like explaining ourselves. And at last it could mean, and almost always does, that they are not fine. That they are indeed much worse than fine. Depending on the mood we are in, if a close friend tells us they are fine, we might ask them what they mean, or what is wrong. However, sometimes, our inate selfishness and laziness takes over and we accept their answer, not caring wether they truly are fine or not. I, however, do not have this privilege. I feel what others feel, think of it like sympathy pains, except that I do not have to feel sympathy. I feel other’s joy too, their confusion, frustration, gratefulness, regret, but the strongest is pain. So it is this reason I have spent my life in laboratories, seen the greatest doctors in the world, and have no friend other than my mother. No matter how many needles they poke in me or how many times they scan the freak of a brain I have, they cannot come to a conclusion. I suppose this should make me feel like an animal, or an object, but really it just makes me lonely. To think there is no one on this Earth I relate to, it is a very lonely thought. I have felt other people’s loneliness, but mine surpasses all of theirs. No matter how caring or loving people are, the human nature to belong is too immense. Perhaps one day they will identify me, and perhaps one day I shall meet someone like me. Until then, I will continue to live in this world, and yet feel like I am not apart of it.