I curse the day on which I was born. Why did You make me?! Was it only for this hell, this torture?!?! You didn't ask me, I was given no choice. Had you come to me and said 'Listen I'm thinking of creating this person and I was wondering if you were interested. You should know, though, that she's going to experience X, Y, Z' I would have looked at You and said 'Count me out, thanks!' I'm so tired of feeling this way. So tired of thinking these thoughts, having these feelings, these longings. I actually long for my own end. I pray nightly to you that you would erase me from this world, from memory. And each morning I wake, a clear indication of you 'No' answer.
I am angry at you, God. The word 'hate' keeps going through my mind but we both know what I think about that and so we know it is not true. But I am angry (perhaps a little mad as well, heh). I am frustrated. I think it was Paul who was thankful for the thorn in his side. But I am not thankful for mine. It's not like I have just the one. This one, though, is the one that grieves me the most. That creates in me the longing for my own end.
That brings thoughts of ways and means.
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