Write.

What to write. I don't know what to write..
I want to write. I need to write. I feel really sick, I feel really hurt. I feel so numb. I feel very cold. And for the first time in a long time, I feel really alone. I feel useless and worthless and wasteful and stupid. I feel ugly, I feel mean. I am tired; I am tired of feeling sick. I am tired of feeling ugly. I'm tired of not being able to breathe. My chest is tight, my lungs are weak. My stomach is empty, and sore. My heart is tired, and broken. I am worn out. My body is weak. I feel unwanted. I am tired of feeling unwanted. I am used to feeling unwanted. I thought I could not feel any more hurt than I feel every day. And every night. I was wrong. I am always wrong. I am so hurt. I am so thirsty. Thirsty for love, for comfort. For something. I am starving to feel important to somebody. I am starving myself every day. My mind, and my heart is bulimic. I take so much in at a time, and force myself to throw it away, to throw it all out at the end of the day. I am full of resent. I am full of pain. I feel so many things.. So many things that nobody should have to feel. But I feel them every day. I feel them every night. My heart physically aches. I long for a feeling of belonging. My heart, my mind, and my body long for a feeling of want, comfort, love, and importance. I long, I so do long to feel beautiful. To be beautiful. To someone, to everyone. More so to myself. I long to love me. To love myself. I prey on my own thoughts, when I think for one second that I look pretty. That I am smart. That I am funny. Or nice. I chew up the words, and the thoughts as soon as they encounter my mind. Thoughts of my ugly, annoying self fill up my mind, and brutally beat any good feelings toward myself I may have for even a split second. I cannot feel any worth. I become addicted to anything and anyone that gives me a feeling of comfort or warmth. That makes me forget about my hate for my ailing self. I no longer seek help for I am becoming addicted to my own pain and complications.