its getting bad again.

i think I understood it was getting bad again. when I started to do everything sitting down. and I think I understood it was getting bad again, when a smile became more difficult to produce than a frown; when the room didn't light up whenever I was around; and when the tears came silently, not creating any sound. and I think I knew it was getting bad again, when my own internal clock stopped ticking. when the itching for joy became my new favorite pastime; when a laugh with my friends didn't cost much more than a dime; it was more like an act that I put on with a grinning mouth that isn't even mine. and I think I knew things were getting bad again, when my bed went from being a resting place to being a tomb. when I couldn't look at any of my friends in the face; and when I started to assume that I wasn't wanted or needed.. when my head felt haunted and I pleaded. and I think I knew it was getting bad again, when my pen felt too heavy to pick up and write. when the same damn haunted dreams played in my head throughout the entire night. so I rip out my hair in hopes that I'll be able to see clearly. in hopes that those I love dearly will notice; do the empty patches on my head express it to you? or should I keep silent and internalize what i'm going through? or should I continue to release my empty screams into nothingness with tears running down my face? tell me. if I'm so important to you, then why am I so easily replaced? I think I knew it was getting bad again. when the fog came back. the crows flew away, and the darkness started to attack; when a simple conversation became exhausting, and I avoided all human contact; and when I began to wonder if i'll ever get my permanent smile back.