I don't know much

I don't know much about life. I don't know much about love or trust or friendship. What I do know a lot about is hurt, betrayal and abuse.

Before you start rolling your eyes and staring at the celing, this isn't another "woe is my life" entry. Okay, it is a little bit.

My last entry was about the proximity of my birthday and the relevance of that day in the relation to my mood. I got a couple of responses to that post and those responses have led me to thinking about what it means to be me.

An anonymous person left me a comment suggesting I make this year different. Start a new trend and make it better. I'd like to say that I could do that. I'd like to pretend that it's actually in my power. The reality of my situation is that right now, that suggestion is just not attainable for me.

I guess one needs to understand the depth of emotional pain I try to struggle with every day. However, I'm fully aware that no matter how long or how succinctly I explain, people will still be at a loss to understand the hopelessness.
Whoa, hold on there, I'm not saying that you, my reader, are not capable of understanding. I'm not even saying that no one can. I'm just saying that in this particular case I don't think the person realised the depth to which this time affects me.

And you know what? That's okay. I'm learning that people won't always understand. Yes, it still frustrates me, but I can't change their minds.

I used to think that my thoughts on the world wide web would be able to change the world. I was adamant that people would read my writing and would learn, understand and accept. It came as an incredibly harsh wake up call when I finally realised that people, as a whole, don't give a crap. People aren't interested in serious misery, in struggle or in hardships. No, people want to read stories with happy endings. I can't offer them a happy ending.

Sometimes, when contemplating the above, I wonder why I still write. The answer came one day when I was writing one of these entries. One day someone will read these. One day that person will understand and will empathise. One day these seemingly haunting entries will make sense to someone.
Whether I'm still writing when that happens is yet to be seen.

All I can do is write. This is my only refuge in the cruel world in which I live. Yes, this is melodramatic but so is life.