Pistanthrophobia - fear of trusting people due to past experience with relationships gone bad.

This was the first time the girl was writing such personal stuff in the afternoon; usually, the sun would be long set when she wrote her inner feelings, but, this time, she just couldn't take it.
She knew it was probably pointless to write such thing, he would probably read it and ignore - because, hell, who's ever going to care for this girl in the way she needs? -, but she couldn't bottle everything up, and expect to be alright.
No, writing was her own type of therapy, where she typed all of her problems away, feeling slightly less bothered by them; at least, she was sharing them, whether there were readers or not.
Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes, thinking if this was even worth it, before exhaling and looking down at her keyboard, trying to find the right words to express herself.
This guy that the girl liked was nothing like the others, she thought; he had been a sweetheart to her when they first talked, he had told her he wouldn't mind her going up to him, although he had no idea what she looked like, and, even after probably having an idea about who she was, he still liked her.
There was something, though, that made the girl's heart stop; first off, they lived really far from each other, and, then, they barely knew anything about the other.
«I want to get to know you...» She started, biting her bottom lip, as she tried to think of words that wouldn't make this whole thing sound clingy and creepy. «I want to know more about you; about your past, your family, what happened with your ex-girlfriend... I want to know your favourite songs, your favourite movies, your favourite books... I want to know you» she continued typing, sighing. «And I want you to know me too... I want to tell you about who I am, about what I've been through, about how much I love my favourite bands and how music is so important to me... But, I'm afraid.»
She stopped for a while, sighing again as she thought about that next part, the part that was probably the hardest to get out there, because, well, she was opening up, and there was this chance that he'd be slightly offended.
«I'm afraid you'll hurt me, like my first love did. I'm afraid you'll realise how fucked-up I am, and completely ignore me. I'm afraid you'll only keep talking to me because you pity me.» She looked away from her screen, feeling her eyes water; she had no idea why this was so important, but, then again, she was pathetic as it was. «I'm afraid that none of that will happen, and we'll actually start really liking each other, and then we'll hurt because we can't be together. I'm scared that maybe we try and skype, someday, and you'll see how ugly and unattractive I really am, and realise I'm not even worth your time. I'm just plain out scared.»
She took a small break, checking through the open tabs on her internet browser, trying to think of how to end this, how to make this all better.
«I'm really scared, and I probably shouldn't, but I know you'll realise how pathetic and worthless I am... I'm sorry I even wasted your time.»