Seven years

Valentine's Day is coming up soon. That date is really digging a hole in the remains of my heart and it's getting worse now. The ads and commercials are starting to leak out through the media, taunting me with false hopes about love. They're celebrating the worst day of my life. Opening up that terrible wound inside me every god damn year for soon seven years now. I didn't like the holiday before that either.

When as a kid I was one of those who never got any cards or whatever you were supposed to give each other. I was destined to be alone, it felt like back then, and it still feels that way, even though I've done everything in my power to try to change that. But all I got was a broken heart.

And then that thing happened in 2007. At the moment I hadn't noticed what date it was, it wasn't until right after. Happy Valentine's Day! He said and gave me candy. Oh fuck... now that has really been a mind twister. Mostly I don't think so much about that event, cause maybe I'm over it you know. Well, I might be over it the other 364 days of the year, but when the anniversary is coming up I just sort of... wanna disappear.

Well I don't know what's gonna happen this year in particular. Last year I was doing almost okay, but I was more stable then, less fucked up in a way. But this year... I'm already at the verge of total breakdown, sick with love and hopelessness is slowly drowning me. Yeah, I'm gonna be a wreck, I can tell you that much. Why can't people allover the world stop celebrating the day I was raped!?

Yeah, I really, really wanna disappear on February the 14th. Go far away from the whole world and all the chocolate hearts, red roses and jolly little glitter sprinkled love letters. Ughh... kill me now please. I wish I had someone to be with that day, at least. Someone who would just understand and protect me, keep me safe. I don't require much. Just your full attention, a whole carton of cigarettes, perhaps some tea and lots of hugs. Watching Thelma and Louise, or some other "fuck the world" -movie.

For some reason my parents just don't do. I feel like I'm hurting them in some way. Like as if it was my fault I got hurt and in that way I also hurt them. (Now I know it wasn't my fault, it's just a lingering feeling that I think almost every rape victim carry with them). That I feel guilty to not have gotten over that incident after seven frigging years. I don't want my parents to see me shattered to pieces, no matter what the reason for it is.

I don't think I'm in shape to travel either, and I'm broke as well. I'm just too poor, can barely pay for my own food. So I can't go to Uppsala, at least not for a while. I'll have to make it on my own somehow. I've survived worse, this... it's just memories.