Why can't I like myself?

anorexia at eleven, which later progressed to bulimia when I was thirteen. I also self-harmed.
extremely suicidal.

See, I've been looking at photo albums. Me, at the ages of thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. My sallow, silver eyes; my black hair and crazy, silver outfits. I looked good. I was interesting; I adored moonlight and rock music and horror films. I was a sullen, sad, gloomy little thing.
I was looking at some conversations I had on Facebook a couple of years ago. I was so funny. There was this boy. This one boy, who I love so much. He was as lost as me. He used to talk to me about his secrets.
He had black hair, too. And he wanted to date me. So did three other boys.
I guess it's because I always made people laugh, despite the darkness in myself. I mean, I thought that I was flawed. You have no idea.

A lot of girls bullied me, but now I'm beginning to think that they might have just been kind of jealous... I was unique and special and kind.
And I was always in some dreaming state.

In the last year of high school, I was fed up. I did crazy things and I got drunk and I skipped school (to go to the library. Ha.) but I was fed up of everybody; shallow relationships and lies.
School ended.

And now I'm left with nothing at all.
No magic.
No rock music.
No depth.

I've grown. Taller. A lot taller. My hair is now shawn down to my shoulders, and it's its original brunette colour.
And I don't care about what I wear anymore. Sometimes I just wear my pink pyjama tops. Because, whatever.
I don't have any friends anymore, which is cool I guess. If they can't accept me, then, whatever. But it's just kind of sad.
I've grown from my best friend of eleven years, from my high school friends, from my magical dark haired angel who took me to rock concerts in the moonlight.
I'm still "ME". But ever since I started to accept myself, I seem to have lost my spark; my magic, my depth. No love, no passion. I miss it all.
I miss the lost, gloomy, "depressing" darkness in my soul. Now it's just, nothing.

My dark-haired angel no longer likes me.
I guess I mean this: I spent years loathing who I was, when I was actually very awesome.
And now I'm having a hard time accepting myself because I seem to have lost my magic; nobody seems to like me anymore. That wouldn't have mattered to me so much, had I not loved my friends. Had they not meant so much to me. Dig?