When do you know something's wrong with your life?

Is it when you cut yourself on the leg with a scissor again and hit yourself 'til you got bumps and bruises all over your head, though you promised your loving boyfriend you would call him before the damage was done?

Is it when the head- and stomachache becomes the usual, after you've binged for the millionth time?

Is it when you drink a whole bottle of red wine by yourself at four o'clock in the afternoon, just to wake up surrounded by your own puke?

Or is it when none of this is actually hurtful, compared to the chronic feeling of emptiness and negative thoughts that troubles you throughout the day.

I don't know, but I know I fight. For no good reasons.