I think I knew it was bad again when the idea of being dead didn't hurt as much as being trapped in my own head.

I knew it was bad again when all I would long for was an empty stomach and male validation.

it was bad again when I would drink myself to sleep every night, so I couldn't dream.

it was bad when I stopped caring if people saw the self inflicted scars on my body.

it's getting bad again, because all I can think about it the next drink, next smoke, next time I can ignore everything.

I think its bad again, but I'm having too much fun to fix it.