I keep collapsing twice a minute and no one really understands how that feels. Because it seems ridiculous and excessively dramatic, but that’s exactly how I feel, and I despise it. I can’t help myself, so I’m caught in my endless conflict between loving myself and striving to love myself even more, while resenting myself every minute.

Sometimes you don’t know why something is happening, all you know is it hurts like a motherfucker. And apart from the anguish, everything is crumbling around you, and nothing is in your control.

Sitting here alone carefully soaking my tears in tissues before they flow down my cheek, catching them as soon as they fill up so it doesn’t run down my mascara. Oh what a waste this was.

What’s sadder than a girl sitting in a nice restaurant, alone, at a table for two – hoping the ground would swallow her any minute now because sitting here alone any longer would kill her. It’s the thought of him, of how used she felt. Means to an end – that was all she was to him.

I really wanted to run, but there was nowhere I could go. And if that isn’t the saddest thing in the world, I don’t know what is. Not wanting to be somewhere so badly yet having no place to go to so you sit in agony pinching yourself in the hopes that one of the pinches would be painful enough to distract you from your current misery.