Do you think we'll ever be as close as we used to be?

And then it hit me. I'm withdrawing from people. A close friend of mine said to me the other night "Do you think we'll ever be as close as we used to be? Will I mean as much as I did to you again?" I didn't know what to say to him. I said as much and the conversation awkwardly died away. We've not spoken since and I don't think we'll talk again any time soon.

But I can't stop thinking about it. And the more I think about it, the more I realise that I am indeed withdrawing from people. I didn't even notice. But it's true. I don't tell my friends when things are bad. They just learn to keep their distance, to leave me alone.

I tell myself, there's nothing to talk about. But there is, it's just raging round my head and not getting out.

It really just bothers me now that I've realised how I've withdrawn. I've just gone. But is it just me withdrawing or are they letting go? I don't talk, but they don't ask either. I think they are letting me go to various degrees. It seems to be enough for them to just see me around, that my thing comes up as online on MSN, that I post a status on Facebook.

I will never endeavour to talk now because I've burnt just one time too many. If you care, take me aside and ask me. Otherwise I guess you'll never really know the true extent of any of it. Sure, what I post here is nothing but honesty and more than I'll ever say using my real name, but it is never everything that's happening. There just aren't the words for that.

I only really will talk honestly about everything with one person, and even now I can't talk to them

I'm still cutting. Not disappointed anymore. There's no point. Because if I sit around being disappointed by that, than I'm just going to be disappointed in everything. Because watching they way my life is unfolding, I have to say I'm very disappointed.

But how could I have expected anything remotely joyful when we are, after all, born to die? I don't see it getting better. I'm just blindly hacking through each day because I couldn't go through with suicide. I'm not thinking about everyone else, I'm technically just being selfish.

So I'll just hack away at myself until it becomes sort of meaningless or I run out of hideable skin, whichever comes first. So I only get minutes of relief, sometimes there's none at all. I just want to do it. That's addiction. You always think 'it'll just be a little one' but you never stop there. It's never enough. Sometimes you cut deep, but you learn to dress your own wounds. And then there's the shame, so you don't tell anyone. You hide them under layers of clothing, layers of bandages, tissues, anything to pad the pain. You don't want people to touch you because you don't want them to see that cringe, the flinch, the slight admission that you're hiding something.

The scars mean nothing. I'll never stop wearing t-shirts. The fresh cuts are bothersome, but I won't stop doing it.

It's a cruel cycle. One I don't know how to change.

- CG