I'm sorry - no, scratch that, I'm not
There's just so much self-pity I can stomach, and this here is definitely too much.
Not to mention how awfully, nauseatingly preachy the last part of this book is.
(On the other hand: privilege of youth, and everything. Ah, these days, when every thought felt like a revelation only you have ever had...)
Good title, though, I have to give her that.