The past few days have been a severe drag. Nothing is wrong, persay, I’ve just been blue. I think I have the smoking kicked for real this time. The first time around I couldn’t accept that quitting meant not smoking ever again. “Ever” is a big word. I kept thinking, “Can’t I just smoke one more? I know people who quit and then just smoke on certain occasions. Can’t I just have one more?” So, after over a month, I did. I smoked one. Then two days later I smoked one more. Four days later I bought a pack and in the week following I was back up to my former pack a day habit. After a month I had had enough of the guilt I felt and the dissapointment of some people plus I was getting very poor so I quit again, and again, it’s been a month since my last cigarette. This time I am having much less difficulty with it, but that’s probably because I’ve been eating instead. To the point where I put back on everything I lost in March and April. Granted, it wasn’t that much, but it’s still noticeable and it’s bothering me a LOT. I’m not even hungry more than half of the time I’m eating but I’m still eating. So after everything, the thing that bothers me the absolute most, and always has, my weight, is still the problem. I hate it. I’m sick of it. It is frustrating beyond all belief and it drains a lot of the happiness out of the increasing amount of good things in my life.