Like I've said, there can still be good days, and maybe the paintballing was just what he needed, but if he says he felt awful then he felt awful. I seem fine to everyone most days, yet inside I'm disappointed I woke up. To everyone else I can seem great, laughing and joking, but in my head, I'm fighting the urge to swallow a handful of my mums controlled drugs, I'm fighting the urge to get out my nail scissors and carve into my arm. He may have felt more able to cope yesterday, but it doesn't mean he was ok.