Thursday, February 17, 2011
For 16 years of my life I tried to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, I had a father that hadn’t abandoned me. I thought he was watching from above or whatever, and that he cared, even when no one else did. I sincerely thought that.
I even placed my damn trust in him. I prayed. I prayed a whole damn lot. I prayed every night for years straight. The prayers were simple, at first. I asked a lot of questions. He never answered any, of course, but I never minded. I never expected any answers anyway.
My mother began to change so my prayers began to change. I asked him to help my mom out. And then I started asking him to help me out. Then I asked him to help us all out.
Then I begged him to please get me away from her, please. It only seemed like the harder I prayed, the more life tried to show me how useless it all was. Faith hadn’t gotten me anything but crushed expectations and increased hopelessness.
I don’t want there to be a God now. There might be, maybe, but I don’t want there to be one. I don’t want there to be one because if there is one then what….
What the fuck did I go through? What was that? Was he watching the entire time when I was on my knees, crying and begging and gasping for help, for any kind of reprieve?
He’s watching as I drown. As I sink.