God Who?

My faith has been built over this twelve year struggle. God knows everything right? Is in control of everything, therefore he knew I was going to be hurt and left, and that I was going to hurt and love, yet where was his compassionate loving hand through the first twenty plus years of my life? Would I , hell could I love a God who allowed my life to play out as it has thus far, believing that it is for the best? You see either God is in control of everything or he is not! He is not just in charge of the good things and all the bad things I did and was done to me are the work of people or the devil. God the god in the bible is the alpha, and the omega, the beginning and the end, either I was going to trust that he had all of this fucking shit under control and it was going to work out, or all the people myself included where full of shit and stupid for believing in God who picked and choose who he would help out!

God Who?

God skipped the first twenty or so years of my life. How can he of been present when My mother chose to kill herself. Where was he when I was being beaten to a bloody pulp. Where was he when Tom started touching me. Where was this all knowing all powerful lover and protector of my soul when tornado dad was beating me down physically, mentally, emotionally. Where was God when all the kids at school hated me choosing to spend their lunch hours chasing me around the play ground trying to jump me. Where was God when I heeded my dad’s yelled directive to get the fuck out because I had a boyfriend. The first I had brought home up to that time. Where was good when I made the decision to plan and carry out the attempted murder of an innocent woman I liked. Where was God in this deep pit I have found myself in. This tiny room with one window if you could call it that. About 6 inches wide and two feet in length. Covered in a dirty yellow grate that allowed a modicum of sun in, but to see out I had to put my eye up to the dirty grate peering through one of the holes that punctured the protective covering. How many hours I have sat on my bed a hard metal bunk with a slim 1 inch plastic mattress placed upon that. Covered in threadbare sheets and scratchy dark wool blankets. The grumbly toilet less than a foot from the edge of the bed; the sink and mirror a foot from that and the door a foot from that. I laugh to myself at all the old tv shows I saw where the prison paced back and forth as a way to manage there time, yet that is not a reality here. In one possible two if you take small steps you reach the other side. Able to touch one side of the room with your left hand and the other side of the room with your right. How did I end up here? What the fuck?