camicazy

Meshed Up
2002-04-17 08:20:36 (UTC)

i m sad. i feel betrayed. it s..

i'm sad. i feel betrayed.

it's because of a lot of things which i shall try to list
down here. it's nothing really.

one of them is just the realization that the bible is a
product of a patriarchal society. this means that it is,
one way or another, biased. it is not one hundred percent
true and accurate. one of these will be the way it treats
women. the last commandment actually implied that women
are 'properties' of men. that alone is bad enough for me. i
asked somebody why this is so...and he said that i must
understand that the bible is a product of a patriarchal
society. which is why women were not given as much
importance as men.

i might be overreacting..but i really feel betrayed. it
seems like the things that i hold true are not true at all.
the bible for one. i have always believed that the bible is
true and completely accurate. now i'm not so sure anymore.
and it seems like the wall that i lean on whenever i cannot
stand alone has crumbled and broken into pieces.

i don't wanna talk about that anymore. i should stop. i
should move on to other things.

sometimes i wonder if i'm a good person or if i'm really an
evil person. a blackhearted alcoholic junkie. sometimes i
think i'm pretty much an okay person, but then sometimes i
feel like i'm a horrible person. not everybody feels this
way about me of course...but i know myself...and i know my
faults and my tendencies. i am a different me to almost
everybody i'm with...which is why a lot of people don't
know the real me. which is why i myself don't completely
know the real me. but i do know one thing: i can be evil if
i want to.

Lady Macbeth's soliloquy more or less speaks what i feel.
it just so happened that we went through this part in our
literature lecture this afternoon. it rang true to me:

Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood,
Stop up th'access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th'effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers,
Wherever, in your sightless substances,
You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of Hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor Heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, 'Hold, hold'.