A note to an unknown person

Am I wrong? Am I wrong to love pain? The thrill it gives me? The release? The blood? Is it all wrong? Is my escape all a lie? A lie the razor tells me, as it glides agents my skin? As the stinging from my wrist collides with the yearning for him in my heart. And the gurgle of my stomach as it hasn’t had any food for days, as I try to be thin, to be perfect, to be pretty, for him. So that maybe one day he will love me. The way he says he does, and he will stay with me forever. And we will be happy. Or is that all a lie too? Am I just a lie? My whole existence? Am I just lying to everyone? Or maybe just myself? What if im just and empty space? If I died tonight would anyone rember me? Or am I just another empty desk at school? Do they even see me when they walk in? would they cry if I dissapered? Or would they just go one like nobody was ever there in the first place?