Hardest thing I've had to send over text

"Because you're happy everytime you're with him"
Why?
Because the person I was talking to...I can never make happy.
I'm supposedly their best friend, but can't ever make them happy, not even when I try.
But, I guess it's a fair trade.
They say I'm only cutting for attention.
Like I'm wearing short sleeves with arms all scarred up.
If I wanted attention, don't you think you would actually see them?
Don't you think I would bring it up more?
Would you try to be nicer if I did?
If you saw the tears as they slipped down my fat cheeks, silently?
If you saw the brilliant red as it came out?
Or would you walk away, leaving me alone?
It only takes a moment, a day, of screaming insanities for a scar that'll last ages.
I'm sorry, hugs do mean this much to me.

Accidents happen

She's done with me, so why should I keep trying to quit? It hurts, emotionally and physically. Why does everyone leave me?! Am I that bad? I feel effing broken. I feel like I could cut away every inch of skin in search of a way to stop the pain. I don't wanna do anything but cry. I feel sick, don't wanna eat, don't wanna feel.

I remember when...

I remember when every weekend, it was expected that you were coming over. I remember when you told me otherwise, yet it didn't bother me as much. I remember when Dad asked where you were when you weren't here. I remember waking up the next morning happy you were here. I remember when I lived for each weekend.
Now, you tell me when you're coming over. You knock. You have to see if you can fit me into your schedule. The weekends are like every other day except no school. When you say you're with someone else, I feel like breaking. Dad doesn't ask. There's just...nothing.

What does it matter?

What do I matter? Nothing matters. Why get mad about me thinking about not doing this audition? I don't have anything to do for it! Why does it matter? Since when do I matter?! I'm sick of...everything.

Can I be? Really?

Echo says that I'm good enough. Could I be? I mean, really? Even with how broken I am? Because, I can be better. I think. I could take the time to make every little scar disappear. I can be better. I can grow up, become mature. I can get a boyfriend, maybe. I can, I can, I can...not feel good enough. Even if you tell me I am, I don't feel it. I feel like everything about me is ugly. Personality, style, appearance. Why else would you not want to spend time with me? I hate fighting for your attention when it used to be I just...have it. Now, you're saying crap like you seriously love him, and you're right, I'm a brat who can't be happy for you. I want to because the perfect best friend would be able to, but I can't. I'm used to having you there no matter what and now.... Now I may as well suck it up because I don't know when you want to be happy and don't care. Now, when I need you to make me feel loved, you want to tell me you're in love. Now, when I need you the most, you aren't here. Now, when I'm spending nights crying, you don't want to hear it. But I guess life doesn't wait for a single person to get themself together. So, I'll try to be good enough, I'll act like it's the best thing in the world, and I'll be perfect on the outside. I won't die or end up in the hospital, honestly, because that would make people worry. You can live in this happiness that you want, I swear I'll try not to bring it down...because I'm not good enough, I'm just....not. I'm broken, I'm a mess, more than you know, but I want you to think I'm good enough, need you to think I'm good enough because you'll leave if I'm not, you'll actually be sick of me and you'll actually leave. That way, when I break, you'll be there for me to fall on...unless you forget how this is.

I feel like the world's biggest Calamity.

I made her mad, again, but it would've been easier for me if she had just shot me instead of saying that. We weren't even talking about it! The razor is calling loudly tonight, I'm sure even you can almost hear it. It sings pretty songs of a deadly dance. A deadly dance that intoxicates me. Why? Why? Oh why? Because it's the easiest thing in my world. In the morning, I'll hate myself for doing it, kinda like when someone drinks too much, but life will move on. Eventually this will be a memory. Just a memory where it feels like my heart was ripped out and I realized my worthlessness. Please, let me be perfect, even with these scars. Please, don't let the war I wage against myself be what stops my perfection.
Sadly, the razor sings loudly and only thoughts of it and sadness fill me. My core has broken. You should've killed me, Echo. No one would cry for I am the world's biggest Calamity.