Summary: "I pull out my hidden scale from under my bed. I went out and bought this one all on my own, saved up the money and everything. Mom doesn't even know I have it. Weighing myself is becoming an addiction, even more so than starving myself is. The numbers on the screen are dwindling every day, and but I'm never satisfied. It needs to be lowerlowerlower. If I'm happy at 120 pounds, I know how much happier I'll be at 119. Every single pound shed removes a brick of stress off my back. Except, each pound shed adds a different brick of stress in their places. I'm cold, starving, dizzy, depressed, and needy. Sadness sleeps in between by bones. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I died. Would anyone even notice?"