[Shakespeare's Strumpet]

I don't really know what's happening. I mean, I do, but I don't know why. I've been trying to quit for what feels like forever, but has only been a little over two years. Every few months, however, I start back-sliding. The farthest I have ever made it was ten months. Right now, I've made it five, and I think I'm going crazy.

Except this time it's different. I'm sorry if this is a little disorganized. I can't seem to focus. My thoughts are jumping all the time. Sometimes I can be in a completely empty room and I swear I feel like a thousand people are all talking at once.Their all screaming for attention and nothing they say makes sense and everytime I just feel like screaming for them to shut up. I can't focus, and I feel like I'm on the emotional ride from hell.

I'm a writer. I normally get so much release just from writing or reading. It normally is what gets me through the urges and the long months without self harm. But I can't focus, and some days I have a thousand great ideas, and I want to write them all down. I feel like I'm on speed...some days I can't write anything. I can't read anything. The words all blend together.

The following content has been hidden - Reason : SI trigger

The other day I was at work. I work as a hostess at a restaurant. You know those little pick things that look like swords that you use to hold sandwiches together. I spent the better part of an hour digging it into my arm in one long line, trying to see some blood. I just had the horrible feeling that there's nothing underneath my skin. That I'm empty. I've always felt like I don't exist. The gash never did bleed. I think I'm right. I think I am empty.

I can't talk to my best friend about it. I don't want to let her know it's coming back. I don't know how to explain how this is different...