I had a dream last night.  I woke up in the middle of the night because of that dream.  I woke up angry.

It surprised me. 

It made me think.

It made me wonder.

Am I angry?  Really angry?  Inside?  An angry person?  Do I hide it, even from myself?  Am I deceiving myself into believing that I’m not an angry person?

Is that why I’m so depressed?

I’m asking myself the question…about whether or not I’m angry…because when I woke up, the anger was very, very, very intense.  I was angry with God. With my parents.  With the world.

Especially with God.  Because He has all the power.  To help me.  To make my life better.  But He hasn’t.  He doesn’t.

I felt the anger burning inside of me.

It’s stupid.  To be angry with God.  I know.  But…

He’s supposed to love me.  He’s supposed to want to have a relationship with me.  He’s supposed to be there.  To guide me.  To comfort me.  To bless me.  To provide for me.  He said He had a plan to bless me and not to harm me.  To prosper me.  He’s supposed to make a way when there is no way.  To protect me.  To look after me.  To care for me.  To want me.  He promised these things.  I didn’t ask for them.  He promised.  He said He loved me.  That he cared.  That I mattered to Him.

That’s what love means, right?

Son.  Of.  A.  Bitch.

Not much evidence of this going on in my life.

I’m alone.  I don’t make enough money to cover my basic expenses, much less to take care of all the financial things I should be dealing with.  I’m old.  I’m without a mate.  I’m still broken.  I am barely, barely, barely making ends meet.  Barely.  I have almost no, if any, friends.  I have nothing…except for my dogs and a few possessions that don’t matter in the grand scheme.  And I pray every day that God will please, I beg you, please, please, please take care of my dogs because they are all that I have ; all that really matters and they are the only reason I’m hanging on to life. 

I pray that my car will start.  It’s an old car.  Old, like me.  I thank God every time it starts.  Every time.  I thank God every time I come home and my dogs are happy to see me.  Every time they are okay.  Dancing and wiggling with little stubby tails wagging.

I want to be a nice person.  A good person. The person my dogs see.  But maybe I’m not.  Maybe I’m just an angry person.  A very angry person.  And there’s nothing good about me.

All I wanted was to be loved.  By God. By someone special.  A partner.  All I wanted was to be worth loving.  By God. By someone special.

I married a man, a man who never loved me.  I married him only because I felt in my spirit God was putting the two of us together.  God spoke to me.  Asked me to trust Him.  I trusted Him.  And my husband never, never, never not once, loved me.  In all those 22 years.  He never loved me.  That’s what I got for trusting God.

Thanks God.  For NOTHING.  This is love?

Thanks for putting me with a man who thought I was worthless and unlovable.  Who didn’t want me.  Thanks.

Maybe I’m a little angry about it.


Maybe I have a reason to be angry. 

Maybe I don’t have any reason to be angry.  He is God.  Perfect.  Never makes a mistake.  Knows all things.  Maybe I am worthless and unworthy of love.  Maybe He was right to put me with someone who would reject me every day of those 22 years we were together.

Maybe He is right in destroying my life.  Taking away almost every single thing that matters to me (except my dogs).  Maybe He is right to put me in a job where I can’t provide for myself.  Where it’s hostile and ugly.  Where nothing I do is good enough.

Because I’m never good enough.

Wasn’t good enough for my parents. Wasn’t worth anything.  Except to be used.  Abused.  Discarded.

They couldn’t love me.  I wasn’t worth anything to them beyond what they could get from me.

Wasn’t good enough for my ex.  Ex husband.  The “husband” that God led me to.  Bound me to. 

Was never good enough.  For anyone.  For him.  For any of them.


Because somehow, I’m less than.  Somehow I’m worthless.  Lacking.  Somehow unlovable.  Unwanted.  Because God never led me to anyone who could see anything good in me.  Anything of value.


I don’t know.  I know I’m not perfect…far from it.  But am I really so much worse than everyone else on the planet?


Maybe that’s why I’m so deeply angry.

One thought on “Angry”

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