Thoughts

I just had a conversation with my friend, A. She is a hopeless romantic. We're was talking about how she doesn't understand why I don't believe in love,because she thinks that it's the greatest thing in the world. Love sets her free, love lifts her up where she belongs, love, love, love.

The truth is, I'm trying myself to figure out why I don't believe in it. I do love. I love most of my family, and my friends. To me my friends are my family, and I would die for any one of them. But there's something in me that is discomforted by the thought of romantic love.....is it the trust? I have a hard time trusting people.....but over the past couple of years that has gotten worse because of certain events that have happened, and things that I have found out. Maybe it's just the whole sex thing......honestly my trust of men in general has taken a beating because of things I now know. Six people that I personally know have been sexually assaulted by men. About a year ago my friend told me that her stepfather had been sexually abusing her, and hat she felt victimized and uncomfortable in her own home, but the only reason she didn't want to leave was because she had a little sister who she needed to protect from him. I tried to save her. We told the cops, but they didn't do anything except send some police over. She stopped talking to me after that. I also found out that my cousin had been sexually assaulted, as had my sister, two of my mothers friends, and A's grandmother as well. I can't help but feel the need to close myself off because of this.

I wear sweatshirts every day. It doesn't matter if it is ninety degrees out, I still wear them. I remember the ne time I wore a tank top, we were on a trip to somewhere and it was night time, and my dad was with me. I guess the strap of my tank top fell down and I didn't notice because I just wasn't paying attention. We stopped to get gas and I got out of the car to buy some water. My dad went in with me, and there was this guy who was standing in line looking at me. It was the most unpleasant look ever. It made me feel horrible. I went to a different isle and he followed me. He kept following me until I found my dad again, then he left. I am sure that if my father hadn't been there something would have happened. When I told him about it he scolded me for wearing my shirt the way it was, as though it were my fault that this had happened. I hadn't noticed the shirt befo then, and when I did I hastily covered it up, but I couldn't get over the fact that my father would rather blame me, a thirteen year old girl at the time, than him, the man who must have been forty something....

I don't know, I have trust issues. I need to get over them. I had to vent. Hey, on the bright side, I'm working on writing a new story, may e this ne will actually work out.