Will someone listen to me? REALLY listen?

I'm Amelia, I'm sixteen, and I keep so much bottled up on the inside. I'm just writing this in a hope that someone will actually listen, REALLY listen, and put in their two cents about what I'm going through. If you're not up for reading my long story, stop reading now. I'm not looking for answers, I'm looking for acknowledgment. I grew up in a very religious and God-centered home. Grew up in a small town, was your typical little girl. I never had many friends, and I had a problem with being super hyper, which of course tends to become an annoyance to most people. When I was thirteen, my parents packed us up and moved us to a city an hour away. At first, I wasn't too giddy about the idea, but I quickly became involved in a church and youth group, and that made me fall in love with the city I now reside in. As a child I would unknowingly recognize weird things that went on with my Mom, and now, at sixteen, I'm realizing how much her problems have affected me at this point. So when I became involved in this church, I opened up to the youth pastor's wife, I suppose seeking motherly guidance. We became very close, perhaps too close for my own good. I guess since I never had a mother who was really all there, I didn't know how to handle the attention and unconditional love from a womanly figure. My attachment to her grew into an unintentional and uncontrollable obsession-like ordeal. I meant no harm, it was nothing too intense, I just couldn't get her off my mind, felt the need to talk to her 24/7, which in the end didn't work out for me. But I didn't know any better; no one had taught me how to manage meaningful and healthy relationships. I guess after two years of my nonsense and ignorance, she got pushed over the edge. She abandoned me, and hurt me in the worst ways possible. She killed my name, cursed me, treated me like a disease. She made sure there was no chance in hell I'd ever be a part of her life again. It really tore me apart on the inside. I was then banned from that church, my home, my only refuge. It was my first experience with a broken heart. I started cutting myself, but it was just more like scrapes, and the kind of cutting that's done with the intention of a response of pity from others; I just wanted attention, because I felt unloved and abandoned. Typical, right? Well, as the months passed, the pain from the traumatic ordeal only intensified. The church had had many problems in the past, and had a reputation for being a cult. So the church wasn't good for me anyway, but I dearly loved that woman, who had become the mother figure I thought I needed. Months later, I became involved in a new church and youth group. Never in my life had I been "boy crazy," or one who "went out" with people. Which in turn, meant I was a love virgin. I ended up falling headfirst for a guy who became my best friend, and as time progressed, our friendship became rocky, things happened, and he walked out of my life. I fell in love with him, so it hurt so much when he left me. That's just the last three years in a nutshell; the two main obstacles in my life that I find difficult to conquer. I'm a smart girl, and I wouldn't say I have issues with my appearance. I'm uncomfortable with my weight, 104 pounds, because I feel I'm too skinny, and I can't seem to gain weight. I want curves, I want to feel beautiful. Here I am, 16 years of age, and eight months ago I tried out seeing the school counselor, and that was probably the best decision I've made in a while. She is seriously my second mother and has treated me better than anyone ever has. She has faith in me when I don't even have faith in myself, and she has never hurt me in any way. What she doesn't know is that a month ago I resorted to cutting myself, REALLY cutting myself, in an attempt to prove a point to myself that says, "My heart still isn't healed. I'm still hurting. These cuts on my arm will prove to myself that I'm not making up my broken heart." That phase lasted for about three weeks, and I don't intend on doing it again. For about a year, I've struggled with digging holes in a very personal part of my body--my vagina. I guess I seek refuge in that part of my body because I know no one will ever see my scars, my cuts, whatever. She thinks I stopped, but I haven't. I'm not happy with who I am, but those who know me would guess that I am. I'm still high strung, the farthest thing from shy, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do love being the center of attention. But I have good qualities, honest. My heart belongs to the sea, I write my heart's cries, and I sing what my tongue can't say to someone's face. I'm a girl with so many secrets, I've struggled with masturbation for 10 years, pornography, sniffing household substances, etc. I'm a good girl, I just have ugly sec