Well...

Dear readers (and of course Emma)

I'll just warn everyone right here in the beginning that this post became a bit ranty as I wrote it.

Well, I don't like tatoos because of the way they look on people. They can be very pretty and all, but I can never get them to quite be a part of the person so it just looks strange and sort of scary to me.

Also, I have a very irrational aversion to change (I'm working on it, but I've got a long way to go) and so when my girlfriend wants to add something to her body (that I know every inch of and think is perfect just the way it is) it's a bit frightening. The thought of this... thing on her skin that can never be removed and that wasn't "supposed" to be there just makes me go "ick!" in a completely non-logical way. It's pretty silly, so I'm trying to ignore it.

I have many, many issues and I guess this is kind of a spin-off thing to them. I'm a heavily messed up person in general.

As for books, I'm trying to get back to reading myself. I borrowed a bunch of books in Swedish just to start remembering how the hell my own language works when aplied to literature. I've been writing in english for such a long while now that I've all but forgotten how to handle my own native tongue with any amount of elegance.

Amongst those books were The 120 Days in Sodom by Marquis de Sade. It's... interesting, to say the least. I was rather amused to find it in the library of the small town I live in. Sade himself seems to have been a creep (apparently he had an affair with a 13 year old, for example) and the book promises to be pretty creepy too. Time will tell if I actually get through it.

I also went to the movies tonight with the girlfriend, and I saw 17 again. It was kind of funny that they had Zac Efron playing basketball and doing a little dance-number too (and the fact that he had his shirt of in the first scene was obvious fanservice) but he did a great job, as did all the other actors. I strongly recommend you guys to go see it.

The night was a bit ruined by the fact that we had a bunch of teenagers giggling at us and being all "ew lesbians" on the bus-ride home. I'm getting very sick of it. People have laughed at almost everthing about me most of my life. The fact that I read a lot, the fact that I'm into music (playing the violin when you're ten can be a fearful thing) and the fact that I'm apparently ugly. Now they're even laughing at my love. And I feel like shit, because I am just too damn tired, and afraid of these little punks that can't really do anything to me, that I can't summon up the power to just turn around and ask them to shut the fuck up. I want to ask that little girl who's demonstratively snogging her boyfriend and giggling and whispering "disgusting" what it is that scares her so much, because I can hear the fear behind that nervous little twitter that she tries to pass off as laughter. I want to ask the guy who points at us and makes discusted faces at his friends what the problem is, and I want to ask them why, if they think they have the right to do what they do, they can't even do it to our faces. They do it behind our backs, thinking that we won't notice.

And a twist to all of this (in my world) is that they can't know that I'm mentally ill and just might end up twitching in my bedroom in something similar to an epileptic attack because of what they do, and they can't know that my girlfriend might have to call in sick to her job as a personal assistant because she's so tired from spending the night trying to get me to breathe properly that she's afraid to go to work because you just can't screw up in her job, and that means that in turn the day of a gravely handicaped little girl and her father gets screwed up. They can't know this, but actually they don't care. They don't care what consequenses their actions has, because I'm just a disgusting lesbian. Because really, if they cared it should be enough that maybe what they do would make me sad.

The other day on the bus a bunch of (in my eyes) pretty ridiculous looking teenagers got on, and my friend said something along the lines of "brat alert," and I couldn't stop a smirk from appearing. I hoped fervently that they hadn't thought I was laughing at them, that they hadn't seen me, that no one got hurt. Because I don't think I have the right to judge them because of something they do that's not really hurting anyone.

I can't change the fact that I'm gay. I don't want to change it, since it allows me to share my life with one of the most incredible persons I've ever met. That makes me happy.

But I am not happy about being a soldier in a war that I never started, and that I have no real wish to participate in. I have no quarrel with straight people, I think they should be allowed to live their lives with dignity and love. I just want to be able to do the same thing and I can't understand why it would pain some people so much to just let me. I'm not hurting anyone.

I don't want to be afraid.

I don't want people to laugh at my love.

Hanna