Hate.
What a horrible word.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
I don't hate many things. I don't believe that the word hate is a good description for what I feel when I am disdainful, or disgusted, or upset, or even frustrated with someone or something. I think that with me, it's even really quite hard to get me to hate you, because I've only hated one person in my life, and he hurt me badly.
What I do hate, though, is feeling trapped.
I hate how they limit what i can say in the library here. I hate how every time a religion is mentioned in our school newspaper the journalist is branded as "bad" or "uncool". I hate how I can't ever say what's on my mind to my pastor, because he'll do a sermon on it next weekend and because he won't ever help me. I hate how if I have a problem and I tell a teacher I thought I trusted I get a call from my psychiatrist the next day.
What I hate most of all is the lack of freedom of speech I experience here, on my very own online diary.
Stupid, I know. You're all sitting there and thinking to yourselves that I should make it a private diary, or friends only, and not so public all the time, or I should do more private entries--but what's the fun in that? What would even be the point of freedom of speech if I had no freedom to speech about whatever the fuck I wanted to speech about? The truth is is that I always have something on my mind. The truth is is that if I had it my way, the day I wrote about you in here would be a day that you read it all and thought it was about someone else. But the problem is is that nothing usually ever happens my way, and the way of the world is that I'm too chicken to slash you all to bits with opinions on here because I don't like to be offensive. I love it how people will get on their diaries and bash me, or my religion, or my beliefs, or anything else relating to something that is not theirs, and then in the end be able to close their eyes and puts their heads on their pillows without a guilty conscience at all. I couldn't do it.
I guess that's a fault of mine, or a weakness, but I don't believe in anonymous bad karma.
At all.
I wasn't telling you what to believe, because I'm fiercely against that. You know that.
And if this entry wasn't about me, then whoa I'm sorry.
But you do get a nice story about Catholicism and strawberries.
Thank you, at least singing is the one thing that I can do.