Repeat

I think there must be something wrong with me that enables guys who do not understand the concept of "No" to find me. And I know there is something wrong with me that stops me from screaming or crying out for help or even fighting back. Put on top of that my recent battle with cutting and extreme self-loathing in general, and you've got me: the now college drop-out who can't take care of herself, is not worth anything, and is ugly and fat. In other words, Sarah. I don't care to commit suicide, but I wouldn't much care if I died. Nor do I really care what happens to me anymore. Because when I do start to care, something bad always happens. So yes, I do give up. What happens, happens and it doesn't matter anymore whether I survive and do the things I'm "supposed" to do or whether I slip into the background and fade away into nothing. Nothing really matters anymore.