Logan and I split.
He said, "I'm sick and tired of you being so goddamn pathetic all the time. You always slit your wrists, cry over the dumbest things, and yet you wonder why I never want to go out! You are useless, Rosie. The only reason I stayed was because you were willing to fuck. But I'll find me someone waaay better, hell ANYONE would be better than you. I'm leaving your ugly dumbass. Go cut, cry, and pity yourself as usual. Bye bitch!"
I loved him.
When we made love... well fucked.. I thought it meant something.
I felt more human, more alive instead of a bag of pale, broken bones.
But of course, my self hatred and self-harming ways has yet again ruined things for me.
Technically, I ruined them, because I let the words and picky little flaws get under my skin and inked into my brain.
"My legs are too fat."
"My hair isn't long enough."
"My eyes are droopy and a weird shade of brown."
I'm too tall."
"My boobs are small."
"My ass is too big."
All these little yet dumb details building up myself have kind of made me think different of myself.
I wanna be skinny.
I wanna have nice sized tits and ass.
I wanna have big, perky eyes that gleam and light up when I'm happy.
I want nice, long, blonde waves of hair tickling my back and running over my shoulders.
I wanna be someone thinsporation.
I want someone to adore me.
I want someone to actually tell me I'm beautiful, making the words haunt me until I actually can actually seep further down into myself and see it as well.
I want love. I want so much love. I want it deep, beautiful, magical, blissful, just perfect like the human delivering it to me.
Yet I am sadly just a fat ass who can't do shit without completely fucking it up.
Why can't I be one of those girls you see on television?
Perfect 6ft. bodies with the skin a glowing sun kissed color, hair that reaches their preferably sized asses, and their toned skinny legs that leave a gap between their unscarred thighs.
And the cute designer clothes covering them up, with a small amount of makeup sitting on their face.
They are the girls I adore. I want to be THEM.
Not a ghostly pale 16 year old suicidal girl with chubby, cut up thighs that are a bright red from the wounds I have made, and no sense of intelligence or the slightest touch of beauty.
And my clothes are usually founded from the clearance racks at the stores like JC Pennys or Wal-Mart, not from places like Victoria's Secret or American Eagle.
Unfortunately, my Mom has about $20 in her name right now, and me?
I only have $0.50 unless you count the credit card I received from my Mom.
I think I'm gonna go now..
I'll pray, even though I'm more of a 'Fuck religion! Fuck God! Fuck Satan!' person, that my 'it', my miracle will come soon.