You know when you start getting bad again? When you can't get out of bed even though it's already 12:00 pm? When you could do your favorite things and hang out with friends because it's Christmas Break and you don't have any restrictions.

You know you're getting bad again when you know that you could do all of your favorite things and the idea makes you feel sick. So you just lay in bed until your mom comes stomping up the stairs, demanding to know why you're not up yet. She has to stop in the doorway because there's no path through the carnage in your room. She screams at you to stop being lazy and then leaves, slamming the door if you're lucky.

So you drag yourself out of your bed and into the bathroom where you take a deep breath before getting into the shower. You wince but can't turn away from the pain. Some of the newer ones swell up and bleed when turned away from the water. You tap each one with your finger, counting aloud. With each number, you feel more helpless.

You don't want to be here anymore. You slide down the wall and curl up tight. When you cry your sobs and screams are silent. You've learned to not make noise because no one really cares.

They ask you if you're okay. You pull your sleeves down subconsciously and mutter a "fine." They nod and leave.

Those who do know about it, brushed it off. Told you that you were overreacting, that you'd be fine, that you needed to stop trying to get attention.

They said that your problems weren't real.

They said your problems didn't matter.

They said you didn't matter.

And you wished you weren't real.

So now it's 2:00 am and you're still awake, sobbing into a pillow, door locked, because God forbid anyone walks in to tell you that you have no reason to cry.