What do you think of my writing? Any advice?

Thanks for your help! Just give any advice you think i need and maybe rate my writing out of 10??

The first thought that crossed my mind was of my parents. They wouldn’t know what had happened to me. They would wake up tomorrow morning thinking I’m sleeping soundly in my room. They won’t get worried until later in the day; but by then, it would be way too late. I would be dead, and they would have to live their long lives knowing that their daughter committed suicide. That was if they found my body, I was sure they would though.

My second thought was of Belinda, my best friend. Her world would be destroyed, like my parents. She knew about the cuts and bulimia, but she never thought I’d go this far. She would blame it on herself too, like she usually does. I wish I could tell her to live her life without all the drama she creates in her mind, but it’s too late; the blood is pulsing rapidly out of the slits in my arm.

I haven’t always cut myself, or been emo as everyone says. I used to be a happy girl. I would never have picked this as the ending of my life. But life is unpredictable, which I only just found out during the past two months.

So here I was lying on a sand dune, looking out over the ocean as the moon reflected itself in the water. Blood was gushing rapidly from the slits in my arms which I had just cut moments earlier. I hadn’t planned to cut too deep, but at least all the heart-break of this life would be over. I had only snuck out of home tonight to cut myself, like I usually did; but tonight I pushed the blade deeper into my skin. The blood had just rushed out like the ocean tide coming in and out in waves of water. But now, along with the loss of blood, the loss of sight began to take over me. Me eyes blurred until the reflected moon was nothing but a blob of silver on black. My stomach began to heave and I felt the vomit flow steadily out of my mouth. I coughed and spluttered until there was nothing more to throw up.

Suddenly, my legs began to kick out, as if they were beyond my control. And soon, my body was joining in, twitching and trashing. No oxygen reached my lungs.

And so, the third and last of my thoughts entered my mind. Justin. He was, I believed, the one and only love of my life. But he didn’t feel the same way. We had been so happy only a month ago. But then he broke up with me and all the lies were shared. I had been angry, but now all there was, was pain. There was a hollowness inside me that could only be the half of my heart that he had ripped out and stepped on.

As my eyes rolled into the back of my head and my heart made its last few beats, I used every bit of strength and life I had left to whisper my last words; the words that killed me.

“I love you, Justin.”