I'm okay. You're okay.

Smells like mean spirit.

“Do you miss crack?” someone asked once.

“Is that a serious question?” I replied.

“Well, you’ve been so quiet lately.”

“Why would that be your first thought?” I asked, a little wounded.

“Oh, I’m just kidding! It was a joke.”

And some people said when I was an addict, I told bad jokes. The thing is, of course, it wasn’t so much joking, as it was poking — poking the ex-addict.

But at least it was a little more up-front than the classic bait, ‘Are you okay?’

I get it. You’ve got every right to keep your guard up and be vigilant for signs that the recovering addict in your life isn’t about to… crack. And, as someone who’s radiated much mayhem and destruction, I understand that I’ve forfeit the right to be any other kind of quiet — except for the kind that must mean I’m aching for dope.

Still, when you make double time to populate every waking moment with all kinds of non-drug-related activities — university, gym, swimming, boxing, reading, writing — you hope you might earn a reprieve from, ‘Are you okay?’ There should be other things on a ‘quiet’ mind.

Instead, it suggests that you’re not so confident in my recovery. Then I start to wonder about it too. I mean, your first thought isn’t, ‘You must have a lot on your mind with essays and exams and all the things that come with trying to make a comeback in life.’

No. You’re wondering if the quiet ex-addict is a soon-to-be ex-ex-addict.

The thing is everyone who goes clean has to deal with are-you-okays — especially in early recovery when you’re under an ever-present cloud of suspicion.

Back then, my honest answer would have been, ‘Not really. I’ve just quit smoking crack and the details of normal existence all seem rather annoying. How do you people exist un-high?’

But I knew that any signs of snappishness would be interpreted as, ‘The beast is back!’

Worse was the toll it took on my confidence. The more I was asked if I was okay, the more I suspected that I wasn’t. And if I wasn’t okay — if the clean and sober version of me was still an asshole — what was the point of this whole recovery charade?

So I started looking at the question from another angle. After all, my family and friends are on this journey too. How are they doing? So whenever someone asked me if I was okay, I imagined they were asking themselves that. The more they asked, the more they were not. Rather, they were feeling past trauma, and maybe even a little scared of me still.

Surprise, surprise. As time creaked on, the question came up less often. Eventually, I even earned the privilege of enjoying a quiet sulky day without the suggestion that I’m pining for the pipe. Just normal people blues.

I don’t even get those very much any more. There are too many good things on my mind. Well, except of course, when someone asks me if I miss crack. That’s trolling. And it’s 100 percent on you.

So, a gentle note to caregivers of the recently recovered: Let us be sulky and green — though never snappy and mean. Allow for quietness. And when you feel you might ask that question, ask it of yourself first. Are you okay?

Because if you’re okay. I’m probably okay too.