Why does God hate us?

In a waiting room, a young four year old girl sits. She sits alone, but there is another four year old girl sitting next to her, holding her hand. They do not talk to each other and do not look at each other. Across from them, a six year old girl sits and stares out the window. An eight year old girl sits next to her, and a thirteen year old girl sits and talks with a fifteen year old girl, they discuss nothing in particular. Down the way two sixteen year old girls sit laughing, while an eighteen year old girl looks on next to a twenty year old girl and a twenty two year old girl who doesn’t say much, but sees everything. A twenty six year old girl holds a 32 year olds hand while her twins sit and stare.

The room is crowded but empty. Silent but loud. Big, but small. One but many.

I sit there, silently, tears streaming down my face. I am small and alone. I am hurting. Nobody listens. Nobody seems to care to help me. I must learn to deal with my pain by myself. I don’t understand why they don’t help. They tell me they love me. Love must be something bad. They tell me I love him. I don’t. I hate him. He hurts me. Why? Why does he hurt me? I am only four! I don’t want what he does to me . . . . . . . Won’t you help me God? Maybe God hates me!

I don’t like it either, but have learned to handle it. I am also four. I am tough, alone, and I don’t care. I don’t need anyone. Nobody comes. I don’t cry. I don’t let my true feelings show. I smile and all they think I am ok. I have found other ways to handle my pain. I shove in crevices, stuff it down when it bubbles up, I eat extra food and hurt myself. I am not happy. I don’t want to be alive, but since I am, I try hard to make it look like I want to be here. Like I am normal. Like them. Like God really doesn’t hate me.

I don’t much know what he does. I am stuck with the hidden memories of how it makes me feel. He still hurts me, but I don’t deal with it. I deal with what he leaves behind. I am only six years old. Born on the sixth, and six, it is supposed to be my best year, but all I see is pain. How my life will probably always be. I don’t let on that I know, and they don’t let on that they know, nobody ever says anything. I cry a lot. Feel a lot. Alone a lot. No God. He hates me.

I don’t want to carry on like the others have. Like I have seen it done before. I try a new approach, one that doesn’t need others to deal with things, but I find I cannot help myself and my body betrays me. I can’t keep my bladder from spilling in the night, I am ashamed of myself. I cannot communicate how I feel. I only feel the pain and the horrible stench of his breath. I stutter my words and want to play a musical instrument. I don’t have the self worth to play. I try the piano, but am too afraid to go to anyone’s house to do it. To afraid to sit there alone with my teacher as she tells me what to do and guides my hands, it is so haunting and I can’t take it. I am too scared to play so I quite. I hate myself. I can’t speak. I can’t keep my thoughts in my head, they are always leaving me. I try. No use. I don’t know what to do. I am so ashamed and scared all the time. I hate myself. Why can’t I make things better? But I want to know why does God hate me?

Me on the other hand, I don’t deal with much of what he did to us. But I have other issues I deal with. I have blood memories that I must control. Things cannot get out. Things cannot be out of control. I must retain the peace that appears. I must make it all go away. I must destroy the evidence. Make the memories disappear. I must. Why does God hate me?

I hate myself. Am ashamed at the choices I have done. I was born out of horrible circumstance. I was born into chaos and disaster. I had to do the best I could. I did not. I screwed up. I will always screw up. I hate myself. I hate others. I wish they would all just leave me alone. I wish I could unravel the life that I am and disintegrate into nothing. I wish they would not come looking for me. I hate them peering at me, like they understand. I want to be someone else. I don’t like who I am. I don’t want to exist. I hate who made me. I hate myself and I hate her. All of them. I hate them. I want to die. Please. I cannot live with myself. I cannot live with what I have done. Please just let me die. I didn’t want to exist. I was created by a split of the mind. I didn’t want it. The fucking responsibility. The Goddam torture. Why me? Why fucking me? Why does God hate me so much?

Picture a magical movie where someone gets eaten up by a million man eating bugs. You know the kind I am talking about. The flesh eating, punishing because you open the tomb, the- we will devour you and then come after your whole group, kind. Picture that and then see a beautiful, thin woman, who doesn’t know she is beautiful as the intended target for destruction. Someone whose light is bright and all that surround her is darkness and the dark creatures feed off her and try and distinguish her light. This is me. But I don’t know it is me. I can’t see myself. I see an ugly, horrible, unlovable, used up, fat woman with a big head. I see that I don’t want to be touched by the flesh eating creatures. I see I don’t want to be used up anymore, but I can’t say no to them and their darkness. I don’t know why. I feel the pain in my brain. I feel the end coming. I feel my body isn’t even there before my eyes. My soul often floats above it and I like it that way. I don’t want to come down. They hurt me. They stick me with their ugly parts and I can’t stop them. They consume me and chew up my flesh. They leave nothing behind in their waste. I feel so unloved. So alone. So hated. Why do you hate me God?

I am much better than her, also sixteen, but I don’t hate my life. I am scared all the time, but have fun with people. I don’t even know how I get to these places, or see all these faces, I don’t know how I end up doing the things I do. I get high, drunk, kiss a few boys, but don’t really like it. I am popular, thin and people tell me I am beautiful. They act like I am somebody important, somebody special, I like that. I want to be. People are mean to me, even though they worship me. I don’t feel hated by God, but don’t feel loved either.

Enough torture is enough. I have the strength, the power, to end it all. To make all the flesh eating monsters go away. I can ensure the safety of the rest. I can make all of them disappear. I won’t forget them. I won’t let them inside me again. But the burden is not mine. I find a different road and don’t want to share in the pain. I am a bit different, older by a two years, but I don’t have to be apart of the past either. I am not sure if God loves me, I don’t think I am worthy of love. I don’t think I do anything to be loved. I don’t think I like love either.

Life never seems to take a different course, as soon as it seems like it might get better it doesn’t. I was created to fight a new monster, low life’s scum suckers, people with very little light and no care for how they treat others. I awoke to find myself in some institution, not the sickly kind the betterment kind. I fight all the dark souls who come my way. Some are dark because they don’t know better and I think others choose that way to live. I meet a few people whom I like, even a pretty girl or two, but I can’t get what I want. Why do I even try? It is useless and pointless. Fight after fight I try and stand up for myself. I mostly fail, and eventually I can’t do it anymore, so I get to leave. I wouldn’t let them make me bow down. I wouldn’t let them have their way with me. Is that why they hate me? Doesn’t matter much, but I seem to go from one shit hole to the other. I get a nice girlfriend somewhere in between, but her dad is perverted and I only wish I could once again leave. She and I fight so much. I try and leave, but can’t ever seem to. I am so useless and hopeless, I cry all day long a lot. School is good, but I feel like a failure. I can’t get up early, although I try so hard. So fucking hard I try. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Never does. God just hates me, I am only 20.

I can see far. I was born like a bright shinning star. I have insight, foresight, and have forgiveness too. I don’t hurt like the others. I am new. I feel more in the moment than in the past and I create my life from scratch. I meet all sorts of people, I learn what I can. Who I am eludes even me, but I start to see glimpses of treasures and light. No one believes me, as they still try and hurt me. I don’t look, or let them see me. They don’t get the body either. I am 22, a bit too young, but an old soul too. Life is ok, I would like it to be better, but think it can be. I don’t think God hates me, I think this world hates me.

I am brought about by the stare of familiar old man. I come with strength and determination. I come to rule them all. I can handle anything and when I can’t, I can shut the whole system down so that nothing gets in. I am twenty six, but not really. I mean who is really their age. I am much older than I feel and much younger than I look. I am the one who has to start and try and deal with what he did. But there is no help, much resistance and fear. I get involved with someone who lights my way. She seems to draw out the desire in me and I spent many years fighting to get out of my self so I can get to her. I fail more than I succeed. I don’t know what is to become of me. But think maybe God does hate me, as why does it always go this way?

The last of them, as I can take it from here. This woman she spoke of, made it all start to clear. But maybe who I am is not enough for anyone. I mean, what really is going on that all of this has happened. I am not familiar with their tales, I only have bits of memory and I can’t seem to let myself be. I move constantly and can’t take my eyes off myself. I try and kick my ass into shape, but nothing happens. I get furious and try and change, but I can’t do it alone. I go through many things, many years, and start to make progress. My story is still going on. I don’t remember my beginning and I don’t have an end. All I have is my two twin sisters to help me along the way. I think maybe God does hate me. He took her away.

I am the one they call Angry. I can fight with anyone, any day. I don’t need a reason to push people away. They have proved time and again to me that they are good for nothing. I can’t trust them, and they know it. I don’t want them. I want to be alone. I hate them all. I hate God too.

I am not angry, I am not happy either. I try and be open or try and be the part of us that is at least interested in things changing. I work hard to fix what is wrong, but there always seems to be more work than I can handle or so I transfer my fixing to others who need it. As I can’t help myself, but maybe they can benefit. I don’t like to fight. I like to love. But don’t always get the opportunity. God do you hate me?

God walks in to the empty room.
He takes the first girl by her hand and the second four year old too.
He tries to tell them that she loves her, but it doesn’t help.
They don’t believe it.