It had been two months since France had tried to investigate America's problem, and during that time, the already scrawny nation had managed to lose thirty more pounds. America would often think the same thought whenever he lost weight, It's not good enough, I'm suppose to weigh less than one hundred pounds. Never would the American take his height into consideration, and maybe if he did, he would aim for a more reasonable weight. Of course, that was a maybe. There was always the possibility that the result of the situation would remain consistent. It didn't seem to matter that there were people who would walk up to the nation, and tell him, "You need to eat something, you're wasting away." or "You're a living skeleton." because he would always interpret there comments as sarcastic remarks. Seeing himself in a picture, or in the mirror didn't seem to help either. The only thing America ever wanted to listen to was what the scale said, or the flaws that his inner critic would constantly nag about. He thought the two were helping him, but something deep down told him that listening to the inner critic, and scale only did him more harm than good.

There had been days when America didn't have the energy to let himself off of his bed. He would just lay there for hours, possibly even an entire day. Much to his adversity, he was currently experiencing a day when walking around, or exercising simply wasn't a choice. He would have to wait patiently for his energy to return, much to his dismay. Of course, there were times when America enjoyed not being able to move from his bed. Sometimes the exercise, and starvation would really catch up to him, and burn him out to the point of thriving the under active behavior. It could be compared to that of a teenager during the last few weeks of school. He was just simply too exhausted to do anything more than rest, and slack off.

However, America did not want to rest, nor slack off. The idea of being lazy was beyond sickening to him, and no doubt, sent him through guilt trips whenever he thought about the times he would lay on his bed, or couch without burning a single calorie. Resting made him feel heavy, and feeling heavy only did one thing for America. It made him feel more plump, and being overweight had no doubt, become the equivalent to the worst sin in the American's eyes. When the pitiful nation didn't think his situation could become any worse, he heard the voice of his inner critic sneer, I told you that you weren't losing weight fast enough. Now look at you! You're too fat to even lift an arm above your head. Every American would be disappointed to see their country in such a state, and you know it. Don't you even remember our motto? 'One pound a day, keeps the fat away'. Thirty pounds in two months is NOT one pound a day. Do the math idiot!

The lack of energy did have one upside for the American. He wouldn't be able to cry no matter how many times his inner critic would claw at his dignity. However, that did not mean that the words didn't hurt America. No matter how many times his darker side would recite them, they were still always an extremely agonizing attack on his ever faltering ego. In a hoarse voice, America tried to reassure the voice, "I've been doing the best I can. Please, my body can only handle so much."

Oh don't give me that! If your body can't handle a small diet, it's weak, useless, and UGLY! It's your fault you're body's ugly because you never put in enough effort to be good enough. You only think the standards are too high, but really, they aren't. I mean come on, every other nation seems to be able to stay thin and perfect. So why can't you be just like your peers? Simple, you're nothing more than a helpless burden! You're weak Alfred! WEAK! The voice only seemed to become louder as it continued to complain about America's imperfections. The said nation mentally bowed his head in shame, and begged, "Please stop yelling. I promise to do better."

Empty promises that are never completed. That's all you ever seem to provide. Somehow, America had managed to muster the energy to sit up in his bed. He sat there for a while in case the voice had anything more to tell him, and when it remained silent, he stood up, and began to make his way downstairs. By the time he made it to the front door of his house, he slipped on his shoes, and set out for a quick jog. However, the jog was not for the exercise. His true desire was to investigate the condition of his people. He was truly curious as to whether his self improvement had any effect on the citizens in his country.

As the gaunt nation examined the appearance of the people he ran past, he noticed that most of them were on the slim side. Since the block he was jogging across was always busy, he was able to figure out the fact that most of his citizens were slim was no coincidence. Sure, there had been a few rather corpulent individuals, but it was nothing compared to the majority. Even finding someone who had a healthy amount of body fat was somewhat of a rarity. It was enough to make America panic, Did I really do this to my people?

The voice that had been pestering America earlier returned in response to the question, Of course this was your doing idiot! They're all starving and suffering because of you! All because your desires of becoming handsome was more important to you than their health! America shook his head in denial, "Shut up! You told me to do this!"

A few people gave America judgmental looks from his sudden outburst, but the nation wasn't paying any attention to them. Instead, he listened to what the voice had to say next, I told you to do it, but you didn't have to listen to me! I can't believe you're so stupid! WHAT KIND OF AN EXCUSE FOR A NATION ARE YOU! America didn't notice when he began to curl up against a brick will. Everything around him was completely tuned out as he began to yell out, "I don't even know what you want from me anymore! Nothing I do is ever good enough! Why can't you just accept me the way I am!?"

Why can't I accept myself for who I am? America inquired to himself. The voice sighed with annoyance, Look, why don't you do us both a favor and get on the scale. Maybe you actually did something right for once, but we'll see. America obediently nodded, and began to sprint as quickly as his body would allow him to. In almost no time, he was in his house, and on the scale. After a few moments of standing on the scale, it finally determined his weight, and it was then that the nation found he weighed one hundred thirteen point eight pounds. He nearly cried when he heard the voice laugh, One pound? That's it? You're pathetic! It's a shame you can't lose weight any faster, fat ass! Lord knows you need to!

America continued to stare down at the scale as he mumbled, "I don't even know what you want from me anymore."

Taking out his beloved knife, America began to roll up his sleeves. He just needed to relieve himself of the pain. No longer did the nation just cut random lines into his skin, but instead would add multiple labels every time he self harmed. In one of his forearms, he slowly carved in the words UGLY, STUPID, and WORTHLESS. On one leg, he sliced in DEFECT, and ion the other leg, he sliced in PATHETIC. Then on his stomach, just above the word FAT, he added a phrase, WASTE OF SPACE. By the time he had finished, there was blood all over the bathroom floor, but he didn't care anymore. Instead, he showered as if nothing had happened, and dressed up to return to his bed.

Once more, America laid down on his bed, and stared at the ceiling with feelings of despair and desperation. Nothing. Absolutely nothing seemed to interest the nation anymore. He was numb to all feelings of joy, and could only feel the pain worsen due to the imbalance. Silent tears rolled down to his ear as he whispered, "I wish things could go back to how they once were. Before I ever decided to start this stupid diet. Before I began to cut. I wish I could stop doing this to myself."

Then America's phone began to ring. He groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut with annoyance, Why now of all times? When his phone didn't cease to ring, America answered it. Only to be met with a rather perky British accent, "Hello America, we haven't talked in awhile. How are you doing?"

Bitter words threatened to spill from America's mouth, You don't care about how I feel! I bet you're just glad you don't have to deal with me in person any more! No! I'm not fine! Just let me kill myself so that you never have to deal with me again! Instead he masked it all with a single lie, "I'm doing fine. How about you?"

America cringed at the euphoria in England's response, "I've been doing great! Even though you were struggling with depression when I visited you, there were still some times I enjoyed. You know what America, I really do think we should hangout more often."

There's no way he could possibly mean that. America's mood was not elated, but he still was able to chirp back, "Oh! I think spending more time together would be a great idea!"

"I'm delighted to know that you agree." England replied, and then added, "Now, don't forget that there's going to be a meeting at your country tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, see you there!" and with that said, America hung up, and ended the conversation. Then he set the phone back down on the table at the side of his bed right next to his alarm clock. As he curled up, he sighed, "Oh right. That stupid meeting. A world meeting too, and almost every country is going to be there. For some reason I have a bad feeling about this one. Then again, I always have a bad feeling about everything nowadays, so this one shouldn't be any different."

America decided to ignore the feeling, and fall asleep. However, the dread continued to lurk in his stomach, but after a few hours of shuffling around in his bed, he finally managed to drift into a deep sleep. Although, his dreams were not too pleasant that night.