I’m such a fucking waste of space. How could anyone love a girl who can’t even love herself? Who cares about a girl who scars her own skin? There’s no pretty way to tell you I want to die. I just want to feel something other than hate and emptiness. I dream about taking a bottle of pills, slitting my wrists, but part of me wants it to be an accident, so I don’t seem like the coward I am. If a car hit me, it would be a blessing. A few years ago, I would of told you that I felt beautiful, strong, popular. Now all I feel is emptiness. Empty. Empty. Empty.