Due to a lack of sleep, emotional instability and probably a lot of stupidity Valentines Day has gotten me down a bit.

With my 24th Birthday only a week or so away it struck me like waking back into a sour memory that I've never had anyone to love and be loved by. I expect few to understand this, but I wanted to voice the ironic factor that this is where a strong desire to write was founded. I admit I have serious issues when socialising (panic attacks and such) but I partly blame that on years of hate from class mates.
I'm not saying I hate them for it, in fact I would not be the person I am today without the pain they all caused me and the loneliness from being the outcast, I just wish someone would appear that would see me for who I am and not the portrait people have made of me. I just want someone I can protect, to devote myself to even. I guess I'm just sappy but this is who I am, no changing that.
Have any of you ever found comfort in writing when the world seems to want you pushed into the mud?

Happy Valentines Day everybody...