I hate myself. I hate what I’ve done. I hate what you now think of me and how things have turned out between us. I hate the person I am, Why did I do this? Why do I feel this way? Why do I think you’d want me after all you’ve been through. I’m a fucking mess and a problem you don’t want. No one deserves me. I deserve to be alone and die. I just want to isolate myself and disintegrate. Let me burn, please. That’s what I deserve, not someone like you. You are just so wonderful, you’re all I want. I want to cry about this situation and how I’m too late and how I’ll never get you, I’m always the second choice. The truth I must accept, and the truth is you’re to good for me and i’m fucking insane for thinking otherwise.

I’m sorry for everything I might of put you trough. 

I’m sorry for entering your life and causing you problems. 

I’m sorry we met and I hope things go great for you and her.

I just want you to be happy. 

I think I love you, but you’ll never know that now. 

looks like bulimia is catching up with me. Gastro-esophageal reflux and stomach ulcers have welcomed themselves into my life. Fuck it’s so painful.

wish?

Honestly I wouldn’t mind dying from this. It’s always been my biggest goal. If it’s the last completion of my life I’d be happy with that. Hey at least I would be skinny, I mean I would have to be so skinny that it would’ve killed me. [is it weird that I have a grin as I write this?] I guess I just don’t care much about all that marriage, career, prince charming stuff. It’s always been overshadowed by the urge to be thin. That stuff never worked out for me anyways. I will always be the fat, stupid, un-talented, lonely, psycho girl with the eating disorder.

it’s easier to hate yourself, then to love yourself.