Please.. God I don’t even know.. Care, I guess?

I want help. I do not want to die.. I often feel like I need to but if I really wanted to that blade could have found it’s rightful place 5,000 different times. Not an exaggeration. Cutting seems like nothing though, not compared to food. It’s easy to not push hard enough, to miss the vein. It’s a whole lot easier though, to starve to death.
I know this is mostly for depression (which I have, and always have had, an endless amount of) and immediate suicidal wishes but whatever. Too bad. What’s so different about me puking myself to death? Five pounds down a week, almost passing out from simply standing up.. Seems pretty damn suicidal to me. I don’t even have the energy for cutting anymore. Who woulda thunk it.
That mirror is so mean. Nobody else sees it but it shows me more than just the surface appearance (though God knows that’s plenty). It shows me everything horrible I know to be true about myself. My self-esteem is in the negative numbers for a reason. I did not imagine the person that I am. Intentions mean nothing when you’re a complete burden (not to mention ungrateful *****) to the only humans insane enough to slightly give a shit about you. I deserve to die, and maybe if I’m lucky this food thing will prove to be it. Or maybe if I’m even luckier somebody will get bored and decide to help and send me away from everyone and every thing. I’d like that.
Then I could be nonexistent in peace. Out of sight out of mind. It’s fucking ridiculous how true that saying is.
Why in the hell does everyone think I hide/disappear so often???
Oh wait.. I don’t want to die.. but I don’t want to live either. Not if this is how I am. Not if this is how I’m always going to be.. somehow I feel like it won’t count as suicide, not like my aunts (second mom.. only mom for a while) suicide. Not if I just starve to death. It can’t be my fault if I starve to death, right? Right.
I wonder if Aunt Patt would care if she were still alive. I wonder if she would notice. If she were still alive, I wonder if I would be someone else. When she was alive, I remember being alive too. Even through the rage and abuse. Not since.. For a moment Scott fixed that. Now things are even worse though. Feeling love and then losing it makes the bad shit all the more awful. It makes the empty parts all the more hollow.
I don’t know how to get help. I don’t know if I even care that no human on the face of this world will care if I do, or help.