Am I really seen? Or maybe I’m simply waiting for someone to help, when only I can. I don’t love anything about myself, its either hate or neutral. I hate myself to the point of bleeding. For years now. I know what to do, to start liking myself: set goals (been there done that, that satisfaction only lasts a day), hit the gym (comparison strikes again, I hate how inadequate I am compared to others), run (I’ve tried, I can’t anymore), lose weight (i looked sickly and it caused purging), draw (i lost that talent now), draw lines with a pen( Im addicted to the endorphins released when I cut). My blade makes myself happy, in the moment, but guilty the rest of the time. I have no one to talk to. Even if they know what I do to my body, they don’t care enough, or have their own problems, or unknowingly make it worse by their words. I act like a different person with others; completely fine. Who am I really? Can I/anyone love me?