The problem with July is that the end of it always runs into the beginning of August.
My birthday is in the end of July.
The anniversary of when I was violently sexually assaulted is in the beginning of August.
It’s basically a recipe for disaster.
I tend to get a little sad around my birthday, which I HATE admitting. Before this year I thought I was just sad around my birthday because of crappy things happening, but I’m realizing that perhaps I’m just one of those people who gets Birthday Blues. Which is LAME and STUPID, because I can try to logic myself out of feeling sad but the FEELINGS don’t go away.
Anyway, I’m generally a little sad around my birthday.
Two years ago, I turned 30 and then a few days later I went on a trip for a conference/vacation combo and came home a rape victim/survivor.
The conference I went to is an annual event, in late July/early August.
This year, the conference just happened to perfectly coincide with my birthday.
I didn’t realize how much that would affect me until I collapsed into a puddle and had a good long cry, after leaving the bar early where I had met up with a few friends for my birthday.
People I know went to the conference this year. They schmoozed and gossiped and had a grand time at the conference that I was attending when I was raped, that also happened to be on my birthday. And that’s fine. Nobody owes me anything (except for my rapist who owes me a new pair of underpants and ALSO THE LAST TWO YEARS OF MY LIFE).
It’s LAME and STUPID that I would be sad that people I knew went to the conference. It’s LAME and STUPID that I would be offended at the very existence of the conference. The conference didn’t hurt me. But trying to logic myself out of them doesn’t make the feelings go away.
So apparently the end of July and the beginning of August are just going to suck for… who knows how long? And it’s nobody’s responsibility to make it suck less, except mine. The world didn’t change when I was raped, just my world.
But that doesn’t stop me from irrationally wanting apology letters from the conference and perhaps a burning effigy or SOMETHING that makes my pain and feelings real and tangible to somebody else because sometimes I feel like I’m still going crazy.
