I have started counting again.

Today's eating:

small hot cross bun-200
smoothie-180
apple-40
carrot and cheese sandwich-400

yo sushi comprising of:

vegetable rice-260
omelette and watercress sushi-199
a pancake-135
3chicken cubes-200 (800)

800 and 800 is 1600. That's around what the superskinny people eat. But stil 400 over count. I suppose I walked to campus and stuff.

Anyway. I saw Little Bird today, and she's annoyed with herself. I want desperately to make her feel better. People keep asking me if I'm alright; I am worried, but not about anything I'm not usually worried about. This deadline looming is a concern (Thursday).

Our mutual best friend (the other member of our triad- Meerkat, maybe) was sad today because her hamster died. I was sad too for her; she's really cut up about it, but then I thought about Bombazine sitting in the middle of us, whose Dad is dead (he died two years ago), and that made me feel angry with Meerkat for caring too much. She's very senstive, she anthropomorphised the animal; I haven't had that much of a connection with an animal. Maybe when I was seven, with my rabbit; but human deaths are so much more pressing, I think. I couldn't empathise, really. I am sad that she is sad, and I acted the empathy, because I know she would for me.

Little Bird is frustrated that she feels she's falling behind in all of her seminars and that she's not as bright as she used to be. I get this feeling all the time. I don't think that this is it though. I think that there is more. I do care desperately about how she feels in herself.

And I feel shit about myself, no good at acting, no good at food, no good at figure or face, no good at being honest or being a good friend, or being in a relationship even, no good at essays, no good at waking up, no good. Self-indulgent. I have to put where I feel somewhere, and I don't want to tell anyone else because they will just say I'm stupid, and privately agree, I am sure. I must be bad at acting, not to get a part. I must be. I must be awful. This brings a lump to my throat and makes me want to cry.

He's always so goddamn excited about other people; excited about millions of girls. There's the young architect that's fantastic at drawing and acting and stage setting and making us laugh, who is "so nice," and so pretty. There's Lice Mutton, whose father is head of a paper, who is pretty and the best flirter he's ever seen, and clever and driven and interesting. There's Work Experience in our play, who he adores for her sunny disposition and luck of the draw birth with her contacts. There's the good organisers, two of them, one of whom he thinks is pretty and wonderful. There's Little Bird, the funniest of all, and so pretty and kind, and good at socialising. There's the girls in the play, all pretty, all funny, all wonderful actresses. There's Cultist with me, who he is so excited about casting that I pale into insignificance. I haven't been as good as usual in rehearsals and I know that he is probably disappointed; especially as cultist two is devastatingly beautiful, and a fantastic actress that intimidates me to hell. I'll pale even more alongside her. We are wearing magenta robes; and they will look wonderful on pretty her, and hideous on me. I know how it is. Women like me are comedic, all the time; with my face, can I be anything else, and girls like her are the beautiful parts everyone takes seriously. Oh, but I'm "so good at comedy". I don't fucking care. Just a few times I'd like to be the girl in the serious role. I have been; but only when a kindly director takes pity on the ugly one. He said I was a six but I know that I am a two, maybe worse. I know I shouldn't do this. I know he thinks I'm funny and maybe even attractive, but when he ruminates over all of these I just feel like I'm worth less. Not worthless but worth less than all of them. I'm no good with people, I am not as good at drawing or stage setting or whatever as the Architect, I'm not contacted (though I don't care as much about this one) and I'm bad at organising. Needless to say, I am not pretty. He sometimes tells me I am attractive, but that is different. He doesn't respect me. I suppose I don't really respect him, but I want his respect. And he always tells me I'm a good actress but this is an utter lie; have I ever gotten anything I really and truly wanted? It's disproved by circumstances. And that I'm a good judge of character; but this is only because my views fall in line with his. He also tells me I'm self indulgent, and that my breath smells, and that my skin is bad.

I know that I'm no good. And yet I keep trying. I feel like crying now, but I don't do that. I might scream instead.