By now it should seem pretty conventional that I require these lapses from writing, just to save my mind. Or whatever that's left of it. I'm not sure where to start anymore, or how to string my words together any longer. It all seems so foreign, this page it seems. I keep staring at it, but no words can manage to describe my predicament. Empty is all that is staring back at me, and empty is as apt as it gets, in my mind.