From the outside it’s easy to think that somebody’s got it all figured out. Because my hair is done and my cheeks are intentionally flushed – I must not have a care in the world. As if it were expected for my demons to be worn like a scarlet letter pinned to my chest, they assume if you cannot see it then it’s not really there. As if pain does not exist unless you’re bleeding or slung in a cast or staggering with a limp. But sometimes the most painful demons are the ones they can’t even see.