They say, "You're fine, and I let them think that. Because admitting I'm not would mean facing it myself. I ignore the way I can't sleep, the way food doesn't matter anymore, the way everything I used to care about feels heavy and pointless. I get irritated for no reason, anxious over nothing, and all I want is to stay in bed and disappear from the day. I know this feeling, I know where it leads. I can see my life slipping downhill again, and still, I choose to look away. I keep stuffing it down, telling myself I'll handle it later. Until I can't. Until I break, sit on the floor, and cry over everything I've been swallowing for far too long