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A million questions for god

So, I've been talking to God lately. Which is a loaded statement for me. I've been thinking about how improbable it all is. Life. Destiny. Meaning.

Ellie took off today from her leash when my mom let her outside. I wasn't there. Ellie was scared by something, and she just took off, at 5:30 pm during 30 degree weather. I cried for the three hours I spent looking for her, both on foot and by car. I thought of her, alone and cold somewhere, and how frightened she must be, and how I hoped she was safe, and if it was too late to save her, that at least God would save her from the torment of the cold and take her before she suffered. I'm hoping to go out and look again tomorrow morning and to find her safe and sound, but I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up but I can't keep picturing her shivering and whimpering in the snow. I want to bawl like a child because I'm afraid of the truth.

Some days it just seems so unfair. The days where I find new big bruises and wake up dizzy and get bad test results. The days where I can't keep track of the lies I tell to people I don't know so they won't ask questions. The days where I can't stay awake in class or get frustrated because I can't focus or I just get angry when I think of how difficult it really is sometimes. When all I want to do after work is hang out with my mom and go out to eat but instead I spend it crying and angry at God for taking away something I really loved. Blah Blah Blah heard it all before. The repeating track in my head. Only it doesn't stop. Life, I mean. It doesn't let up. I mean, there are some really really amazing moments. When its poring outside and I'm shivering and my hair is wet and the best thing in the world is just to throw back my hair and stick out my tongue and catch raindrops and run around. And there are moments, really juicy moments, that would never appear in any romance novel or porn movie, but nonetheless stick out in my memory as things to remember forever and never tell anyone. And if anyone asked, I'd say that I'd had a good life. That I live a good life. That I enjoy so many little things that having a serious illness has reminded me I've been taking for granted. But. (and there always is, I'm sorry to say, which probably guarantees me a spot on the pessimistic side) I'm so tired. Exhausted. Had enough. I want to scream. To cry. To shout. To throw up my hands. So. God. Please tell me. When is enough?!!

Is enough when I total my first, not to mention new, car on my way to school? Is it when my ex-boyfriend shows up at my doorstep in tears, begging me to come back? Is it when I become bitter and enraged at my doctor, my teachers, and my body for sabotoging my well planned life? Oh! But HA! Well planned! Abusive childhood. Death of only grandparent at 16, followed closely by death of dog and death of (formerly abusive) parent at 17. Estrangement of remaining parent during college due to problems with first boyfriend. Followed by string of minorly destructive relationship (read:sexual) decisions. Contraction of herpes at 19.Yes, there was a condom.

Well, fuck it, I said. I'm still a kid, I said. I can make mistakes now, I'm finally allowed, because none of it has huge disasterous consequences, mostly because the bad decisions I was making only affected me. So, I decided, I am changing schools, and pursuing art. And I did. And I am. Not that anything got simple after that just because I felt I was doing something to finally make myself happy. Turns out, I just got bitter about the workload, and cynical about the school ideals. Never good enough!!!