Inactive.

I know what's going on around me. I know when I'm not wanted. I know when I'm hated. I know when it's reasonable to be upset.

Yes sometimes I get paranoid. Yes sometimes I get mad at myself for the smallest things. Of course I miss something now and then.

But that doesn't make you better than me. My flaws cannot even be compared to yours. Not to say either of us has it better or worse. I'm not you. You're not me. I don't pretend to understand you, so stop pretending to understand me.

Maybe you don't know what it's like when your dad stops coming home for dinner when you're only seven. Maybe you don't know what it's like to be excluded and beaten with words. Maybe you can't tell when someone hates you. Maybe you've never seen someone dying in front of you. Maybe you've never held your sobbing grandmother. Maybe you've never taken a blade to your skin after months of being fine. Maybe you don't have to worry about being overweight.