Each morning, I sigh as I rise from my bed. My body aches, soreness from my futile attempt at exercise. But that's not the only thing that aches. My heart, much more so than my body, sends waves of pain coursing through me. Each morning, the first thing I want to do when I awake, is cry.

Should I? Do I let the salty tears streak down my cheeks? Go to work with a red face and tired eyes? Do I let my friends know the pain I feel inside? Or do I, once again, keep to myself. Let nobody in. Let nobody see.

I choose the latter.

I don't have to practice my smile in the mirror anymore. I've had too much practice. I can even get the gleam in your eyes one only achieves from genuine happiness. It's foolproof.

As I go throughout the day, each little thing seems to rub off the mask one tiny piece at a time. I hear a sob and think of my own sorrow. A scream and I'm reminded of my scariest days. Even laughter seems to bring back a terrible memory. Memories of one so broken she has nothing to do besides pull herself up and carry on.

But then I find myself wearing down more and more and more. Until I have to rush to the bathroom. Hide. Calm myself. It'll all be okay. I am strong. I can do this..

I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I can't cry. Not here. Not now. So I take away the pain another way. My fist finds a wall, punching, punching, punching. Until I no longer want to cry.

I would rather be angry than cry.

But you'll never see that. You'll never see the broken hearted girl that stands before you.

And that's just the way I like it.