Dear god, You are Bad for My Mental Health
I’m tired of you gaslighting me.
Dear god, it’s me. Yeah, me. I don’t need to tell you who. You created the heavens and the earth and everything in between so surely you know me, your one in a billion.
I have a bone to pick with you.
First of all, where have you been?
You’re the dad who went out for cigarettes and never came back.
People claim to see your face on burnt toast, but that’s barely enough proof of existence when you let people starve in the streets. Why do you let wars break out? I imagine you on your throne in the sky, watching people fight like gladiators to their death. Is this your entertainment? Do you wash your hands in their bloodshed since they mean so little to you?
You claim to be all-knowing, yet you have no self-awareness. If you can grant wishes like a genie, why are you so selective in your hearing, ignoring cries for help?
Everything exists in opposites — light and darkness, sugar and salt. I’ve heard you cause pain so you can make people appreciate its opposite: your kindness. With this logic, should parents starve their kids so they can be grateful when they do get fed? That’s just abuse, plain and simple.
