"Excuse me, I'm going to go blog. To God."

Dear Father who art in Heaven,

(Or something like that, right?)

We all know that I have never been very enthusiastic within the field that you work, but for the sake of settling this urge to blog, we are going to call me a believer. Because if we don't pretend that, then once again it will appear as if I am talking to myself.

Lord, the reason I haven't been to a service, or said a prayer in..a rather long while, is all to do with a lack of understanding of your methods. Throughout my entire life I have found myself wondering, 'If there is a God, why are there so many sick people?' or 'If there is a God, why didn't he help Santa get my package to the Hanson brothers?' or 'If there is a God, why would he want a hurricane to wipe out a country?' or 'Why did God let those planes hit the Twin Towers, and why did he create our species to be so war-hungry?' or 'If God is so awesome, why does he keep two awesome women, or two awesome men from marrying each other?' Huh!?

Up until today, I never questioned God in relation to my own life and situations, though. I know it was the fault of my parents that we all went through a divorce, I know its my own fault if I fail a test. I know that God didn't LET someone sexually assault me, because I was the one who opened the door and let him in! The heartbreak I have suffered has be due to my own choices, to have previously dated imbeciles. That much I know. So I never questioned God, personally.

But then I'm siting in my bathroom, after a perfectly normal and enjoyable morning with my dad. And I am sweating, and I have chills, and I'm shaking, and I'm scrambling for drugs, and I'm soaking a cloth in ice water, and I'm crying. I'm crying because I was supposed to have left for my Goddaughter's 2nd Birthday party 20 minutes ago. And I'm crying because it's just unreasonably, fucking unfair.

God, I know there are a couple billion souls that you have to watch over, but I'd be willing to call your bluff, if you claimed you'd never looked down and seen me here. Here, in this repulsive, pathetic, and depressing state. I know you've seen me! I mean, you're God, for God's sake! You see everything!

So God, what is it that you are thinking when you look down from Heaven, and I, one of your blessed children, am in a ball on the floor, considering that dying could be far easier then putting up with this shit? Do you even care? Or am I and this illness that I have, lumped into the list of things you don't care for, like gays, people fornicating before marriage, and innocent babies born out of wedlock?

I've often heard that you have a plan for all of us. Is there some kind of greatness that you are preparing me for, or is THIS the plan you have for me? 'Jorja...Jorja...hmm, SHE can be a pathetic sissy who isn't able to keep a good job, or go to the bathroom without running the risk of heart palpitations.. And Jonathon, HE can be a fireman..Joanna can beeeee A BALLERINA! Yes, Joanna will be a ballerina. Now that just leaves me with Joshua...'

I just don't get it. Is it amusing? I'll give you that much, it is likely pretty hilarious to see me flailing around, unable to sleep all night. But doesn't it get old, laughing at completely helpless 24 year olds? I would think so.

Why do you give someone like ME an undefinable, unrecognizable, incurable illness, and then present someone like Miley Cyrus with a perfectly normal digestive tract and nervous system, when you KNOW she's not going to appreciate it, and just throw it all away for a new BONG and then go on to wrongly influence the rest of the blessed children?! Why don't the murderers get debilitating IBS or traumatizing anxiety?

I just keep finding too much evidence AGAINST your existence vs. proof that you do exist.

I mean, you're either not real, or you're a total asshole.

I'll let you pick!

Love,
Jorja