I'm enduring an awful sugar-caffeinated headache, due to my extremely malnutritious (and worse, high-caloric) breakfast of cookies, blueberries, and two cups of coffee. I have no intentions of eating lunch now...

So my camp--I was, surprisingly, perfectly fine. I used to have social anxiety, though you would detect no trace of it if you were there with me last week. The biggest thing I have discovered so far is that I can survive on my own (except finding my way around, for some reason...)

It makes me frustrated because now I just want to up and go, skip the last year of high school and experience the world already. Really, what separates a precocious minor from an adult anyway? Being stuck in this house in the middle of suburbia is going to drive me closer to the core of desperation--booze and sad songs, and smoking next to the ruinous buildings of my present nowhere.

My roommate was named Charlotte. I say "was" because she left this week, sick of the boring lectures and the sweaty dorms and of being far away from her real life. She lives in the city, goes to an art school and has a place in The Hamptons.

She told me about a girl in her class that was big-boned whilst all her friends were petite stick figures. This girl became anorexic. She etched FAT in blood onto her arm. "Other people cut for attention, but she was the one person that really meant it," she said to me. "Now she's locked up in a mental hospital."

And all I could think was, "I'm not that bad."