I am at Times, quite Pissed about Him Dying

If ever there was a "time to swear" mine would be now...and I would curse such a vile blue streak of cuss words and profanity that even the roughest neck sailor, upon hearing, would blush to be in the presence of my toxic voice.

Because it's not "okay" and I don't see it "getting better".

I cannot allow even my own self to truly think my raw, yet honest thoughts...let alone share them with others, in a most likely pathetic attempt at "healing".

But, regardless...I will still do so now, pause to listen to my inmost cries and communicate them out loud, be it right or wrong...my need to vent is currently overwhelmed by my perhaps better sense of judgement.

So, forgive me, please...for not presently bowing in His presence, for questioning His word, for feeling let down and ripped apart by the very One, Almighty.

God screwed us over....again...this is far from the first time.  And, yes...I know that many have loads of shit to bear, but this is my blog, so, right now, right here...I'm talking about mine, my shit, my landfill full of crap.

When I was nearly 12 years of age, I had this (what I then thought was) "loopy" counselor that my Mom insisted I go to for a bit, after my Dad died.  My first Dad, yea...this is my second, Dad to die...anyway....

She kept insisting that I deal with my grief.  This woman would continually suggest that I go out into an open cornfield and literally scream up to the sky, "Goddamn you, God!"

I was so abhorred every time she mentioned this!  

I could not begin to imagine however this might bring my Dad back...and to hear this woman then, in my mind, suggesting that I go out and loudly beg to be struck down dead by lightening, certainly made no sense whatsoever.  

I was convinced that she was out to get me...for reasons of which I was just not yet sure.

That was oodles of time ago, so of course, today I am that much older and thus wiser...er, um...one would think.

The thing is, finally, now...that "loopy" counselor is making a bit of sense to me.  In fact, maybe she's on to something after all.  

And I'm ashamed to admit that now, I might give her old advice an "in real life" try.

For PapAmore', Arend 'Odee' Lenderink