Letter to God

Dear God,

    Honestly what am I supposed to say to you? What happened between us? You have some explaining to do. I know I'm not one to speak... I haven't exactly tried to reach out to you as often as I should, but I haven't heard from you in months. Is it something I did? I read somewhere you were supposed to be with me no matter what, yet when I look around, you're only helping out the people who don't need the help like I do.

     Where were you last night when I was at that dance? Where were you a month ago when I got that black eye? Where were you when my parents left for the weekend? I tried to tell myself that you would be here, just fashionably late, I tried to tell myself you would be there tomorrow because you got held up at work. How could you do this, God? I thought you saw everyone all the time, but you've always managed to leave my prayers unanswered, and my thoughts negative, and my actions questionable. Was it because when I was 13 I told my mom I hated her? Or was it because I snuck out too many times to count...

      I don't know who gave up first, me or you... It was probably around October of last year. You remember that? I kept praying, but you stopped answering. Why did you do that? After a while I stopped trying because I felt like there was no point. Maybe you just needed your space... But bottom line is I need you. I need you more than you need me, and I'm sorry. But you have to realize, sometimes having fun means you need to break some rules. If you live your life too scared to kiss a boy then there's no point in living one, my friend.

      I remember that time I asked you... Begged you to help me figure out what I should do with my life and where I should go. I asked if you could hear me to show me a sign, any sign that you could understand the words that fell out of my mouth. I remember. I remember I was on my knees laying against my bed half asleep, my eyes were filled with so much sorrow and regret. I remember, God. How could you forget? I remember it was so quiet, the silence hurt my ears, and all I asked for was a sign, one sign that you could hear me... I waited for minutes, what seemed like days, for a stupid sign. There was no sign, not even a slight breeze that whistled through my window screen. No car drove past, no thought popped into my head, not even the sound of a dog barking. Just stillness. That's when I knew, God. That's when I knew you were mad at me.
      I know whoever reads this is thinking "God can't be mad at you, get over yourself" I would like to add that you're wrong, I hate you and hope you live a weird ass life in a delusional mindset.
      I know you're mad at me, because I've made terrible mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes... I mean except the select few who are perfect and think God isn't ever mad at you like the people I mentioned above. I wrote this letter to ask you how I can come to you for forgiveness. I've tried to kneel before you and pour my heart and soul into an apology, but that wasn't good enough. I've tried to call your phone, but you didn't pick up.
      I have some questions for you... Why did you take my best friend from me? How dare you, God. Didn't you realize I needed her? I want her back. This isn't funny anymore. Also, why did you make me so angry with myself? I'm tired of never being satisfied with anything. Why can't I love people? Correction, why can't I believe in love or happy endings? And why the hell do I push everyone away? This needs to stop. Why are my parents so irresponsible? When is it time for them to grow up and face their own problems? Why did you break my leg at the most critical time of my dancing career? I needed that for my future, it's all I had to look forward to. Why do people always walk in and out of my life leaving me having to pick up the pieces? Answer me that...
       It seems like the more I ask why you did this to me, the more I know I did this to myself. I'm sorry I'm not what I was supposed to be. I'm sorry I give up too easily and assume it's all your fault. I'm sorry I point my finger at you. I always seem to forget that the one finger I point at you, there's always going to be four pointing back at me. Anyway, if you get this please, God, please write back. This time I'm ready to listen.
           Thanks for reading this.
           Yours truly,
            -Posh Spice