This is the third weekend that I've felt...depressed. Lack of motivation. Lack of getting things accomplished. Lack of moving anything. It feels like it's slowly eating me away. Everything I worked so hard to build up, my self-esteem, my sense of worth, all just slowly deteriorating.

I don't feel pretty anymore. I don't wear nice clothing. What's the point when you'll just get chemicals all over it or it'll make you so warm that you'd feel like passing out. There's no point in being pretty. Dressing in nice clothing. Making your hair pretty. You'll just have to tie it up. I hate it. I hate it a lot. I hate not feeling good about myself. Whoever said that you can be a size 12 and still be pretty is a lie. Maybe if you started as a size 20+ or something.

Food doesn't make me happy anymore. The less I eat the better. Sweets make me sick. They hurt my stomach and I'm left with guilt over the calories they hold. It's silly, though. I don't want to be like Poppy's sister. I really really don't.

I really like Poppy's story. It's nice to read about two very different people growing up in extraordinary circumstances trying to help each other and find love. My favourite part has been when Poppy tries to bleed herself (note: the wrist is a bad area to do it, silly) and she wakes up angry that she's alive. Angry that they saved her. She's lucky, you know. She can blame her necrosis on her deteriorating family. It's like kids who are messed up from divorce. The reaction is like, "Poor kid. Probably traumatized and neglected from the divorce."

Me? Nothing wrong with my family. Nothing broken. We just don't love each other in a North American kind of way. We love each other through money, not words. I have nothing to blame my necrosis on! It's frustrating because there's nothing that I can blame but myself!

Another beautiful story is from Princess when Skador's mother starves herself to death (almost) because her lover Chad died (and thus lost her will to live). Then she ends up drinking poison since she was dieing too slowly for what's-his-name. There's just something beautiful about the scene where she pretends to be happily amongst her children, only to toss the food she brings along into an empty tree trunk. It's morbidly beautify, to die for love.