Reach out to me

Everything knocks me down. I feel so fucking ridiculous for thinking I have a chance with anyone. As a friend, as family member, as a girlfriend. Feeling stupid for being depressed, when I'm not even being bullied in school. When I'm getting grades that are ok. When I have a great family.
I feel fucking worthless and forgettable because even though people know that I self-harm, they don't seem to care at all. No one asks me how I'm feeling or if I'm okay. It's almost a year ago I told most of my friends, and none of them have checked on me once. They probably forgot about my scars, and didn't notice that from 8th grade on I've worn long-sleeves. I don't even know if they ever think about me, or how I feel. They don't think about why I did it - do it - or how I felt when I did - do. Someone told me that she thinks people at school cares about me a lot. I don't believe it.
Hearing that, made me feel even worse. Because it made me think about how they actually couldn't care less. Hating myself more and more, for everyday that passes. How did I end up like this?
Wishing that depression was my faith, because I like the idea of that better, than the idea of it all being my fault. But it is. It's my fault that everything feels pointless, because I tell myself it is.
It's my own fault that I'm fat, because I eat when I'm bored (all the time)
Isn't it fucked up that I actually want to have an eating disorder?
Aren't I an idiot for desiring to cut open my skin, but not doing it so much anymore because I'm too afraid of regretting it  when I'm older and want to wear short-sleeve t-shirts?
Is it crazy that I love looking at my scars, bruises, cuts and the blood?
Am I abnormal for feeling as if I'm going to be sick and getting a headache when I think about my life? Is it weird that I refuse reaching out to people, because I'm convinced that if they want to talk to me, they will (they don't) And feeling knocked down every time I try to reach out.
I hate my body. I hate my face. I hate my voice. I hate my personality. I hate my self.
I don't cut because I want to die, I cut because I want to survive.