I don't know what has come over me. Wait, I actually do.

But I have just picked up the thumbtack from the board in front of me and carved the word "fat" on the flesh of my abdomen approximately 11 times.

It hurts. My abdomen is now splattered with the words "fat" over and and over again. Like an insane dream.


I'm trying. Really I am. I'm working towards changing negativity. But I've just encountered a relapse. No biggie.

And who the fuck is behind CNASIN? Its some stupid fucking sms portal that keeps sending texts with updates on the election results. I don't give a fuck about Sinapore politics right now. Out of extreme annoyance, I texted back "I do not give a care in this world about Singapore" but the text bounced back obviously.

My tummy hurts now. My skin is splayed with angry red welts and they sting. But I like the pain. But I feel like I haven't cut enough. The pain feels too minimal. Okay. Positive thoughts.

Aaargh. I can't tell the parents about this. They have too much to worry about. An invalid brother, a daughter with a weird boyfriend who is near anorexic and is influencing me, but obviously failing because I'm still as fat as ever and have resorted to cutting. My parents have enough on their plate already.

These were my mother's words the last I went off the reins "Don't you dare become like Wendy and give me anymore trouble, okay? You better not become like her. I don't need another one."

I'm sorry Mum. I won't burden you with this. I'll deal with this on my own. With my trusty thumbtack.

I wish I'm dead now.

Back to Jean Sasson now. Maryam's son has just been kidnapped by her fuckhead Afgan husband. I'm crying as I'm reading her tragic story.

Life and death are so interchangeable.