Rotovia-
21-05-2008, 04:43
Dear God,
Go fuck yourself. As I look around the world and see the worst and most depraved examples of human filth, the Joseph Mendels, the Adolf Hitlers, the Paul Pots, I cannot help but be reminded you are the worst of them. Up there on your pretentious throne you look down upon us humans with a mixture of callous disregard and spite, like a turd trampled on your shoe.
It is unfair to blame the ills of the world on you, I hear you say? You sent your son to die for us? Well about that... you were so incensed at the offences of humanity against your divine genocidal whims that you determined the only way to forgive us was to kill your son. Us mere humans tend to think an apology would suffice, or for particularly serious infractions some flowers, or an appropriate act of penance, and not the murder of our children.
But I digress, I write to you not because of the millions of people you allow to starve to death, or cruel diseases you allow or inflict upon humanity, or your calls for infancide or any other crimes you commit, that were you human, would see you convicted of crimes against humanity; no, I write for a more selfish reason.
I write to you because you will not allow me one moment of pure joy, in any moment of my life. Because you feel the need to fill my head with thoughts so tormenting, with voices so enraged, and a white-hot pain that forces me into exact compliance with rules I cannot fully fathom. I write to you because for every homeless person I clothed, for every drop of blood I gave, for every Sunday school class I taught, for every Bible I read cover-to-cover, for everyday I spent on my knees begging for your mercy; you looked down on me and spat in my eyes.
I thanked you for the gift knowledge, I thanked you that you made me to think, and so you gave me OCD. I thank you for my friends, for the world around me, so you gave me anxiety disorder and agoraphobia. I thanked you that at least I could still think, so you flooded my mind with intrusive thoughts, counting, reels of perpetual thoughts and crippling migraines. I thanked you for the protection of the church, and you let them molest me. I thanked you for my family, and broke them apart. I thanked you for my life, and every day you destroy it.
As I crush myself into the corner of the building, for the offence of leaving my home and daring to enjoy the city, you force me to recite "father forgive me for I have sinned" and when I won't, you flood my mind with images of horror, and cripple me with fright.
I gave you some of the best years of my life. I gave you my childhood, my adolescence, gave them without question, and I gave them with love. But not once did you show that same love to me.
God, if you have any morality in you; leave me alone. I have nothing left to give.
Go fuck yourself. As I look around the world and see the worst and most depraved examples of human filth, the Joseph Mendels, the Adolf Hitlers, the Paul Pots, I cannot help but be reminded you are the worst of them. Up there on your pretentious throne you look down upon us humans with a mixture of callous disregard and spite, like a turd trampled on your shoe.
It is unfair to blame the ills of the world on you, I hear you say? You sent your son to die for us? Well about that... you were so incensed at the offences of humanity against your divine genocidal whims that you determined the only way to forgive us was to kill your son. Us mere humans tend to think an apology would suffice, or for particularly serious infractions some flowers, or an appropriate act of penance, and not the murder of our children.
But I digress, I write to you not because of the millions of people you allow to starve to death, or cruel diseases you allow or inflict upon humanity, or your calls for infancide or any other crimes you commit, that were you human, would see you convicted of crimes against humanity; no, I write for a more selfish reason.
I write to you because you will not allow me one moment of pure joy, in any moment of my life. Because you feel the need to fill my head with thoughts so tormenting, with voices so enraged, and a white-hot pain that forces me into exact compliance with rules I cannot fully fathom. I write to you because for every homeless person I clothed, for every drop of blood I gave, for every Sunday school class I taught, for every Bible I read cover-to-cover, for everyday I spent on my knees begging for your mercy; you looked down on me and spat in my eyes.
I thanked you for the gift knowledge, I thanked you that you made me to think, and so you gave me OCD. I thank you for my friends, for the world around me, so you gave me anxiety disorder and agoraphobia. I thanked you that at least I could still think, so you flooded my mind with intrusive thoughts, counting, reels of perpetual thoughts and crippling migraines. I thanked you for the protection of the church, and you let them molest me. I thanked you for my family, and broke them apart. I thanked you for my life, and every day you destroy it.
As I crush myself into the corner of the building, for the offence of leaving my home and daring to enjoy the city, you force me to recite "father forgive me for I have sinned" and when I won't, you flood my mind with images of horror, and cripple me with fright.
I gave you some of the best years of my life. I gave you my childhood, my adolescence, gave them without question, and I gave them with love. But not once did you show that same love to me.
God, if you have any morality in you; leave me alone. I have nothing left to give.