I don't feel like writing....gah. My mother wrote in my notebook today. The one I write my stories in. She didn't even ask. So now I have to get a new one and transfer all the writing into it because she used so much paper from it. I just hope she didn't read anything out of it. Michaels didn't have any canvas boards so I can't do any paintings till wednesday when I can go to AC Moore. I'm pissed. I've been severely depressed lately, mostly because of my physical appearance, however stupid or superficial it may be. I look at myself and hate what I see, yet I know how to change it somewhat and I don't do it. I'm too lazy to exercise and I eat when I'm not hungry. This makes me hate myself worse. There are just too many things I hate about myself. I'm sick of feeling this way. I need a friend, yet I don't need anyone. I wish there was someone I could relate to. Someone I can talk to, someone older and who thinks like me and has the same interests and opinions. That will never happen. My life is a fascimile of a sham.