I Wondered A Little Why God Was

I Minded My Own Business, And, Unfortunately, So Did Everyone Else.

But I Was Sure Of One Thing. If God Were A Father, With Children, That Cleanliness I Had Been Feeling Wasn't God.

For Eight Years I Was An Inmate In A State Asylum For The Insane. During Those Years I Passed Through Such Unbearable Terror That I Deteriorated Into A Wild, Frightened Creature Intent Only On Survival. And I Survived. I Was Raped By Orderlies, Gnawed On By Rats And Poisoned By Tainted Food. I Was Chained In Padded Cells, Strapped Into Strait-jackets And Half-drowned In Ice Baths. And I Survived. The Asylum Itself Was A Steel Trap, And I Was Not Released From Its Jaws Alive And Victorious. I Crawled Out Mutilated, Whimpering And Terribly Alone. But I Did Survive.

If A Person Is Treated Like A Patient, They Are Apt To Act Like One.

I Couldn't Get That Same Feeling During The Day, With My Hands In Dirty Dish Water And The Hard Sun Showing Up The Dirtiness On The Roof Tops. And After A Time, Even At Night, The Feeling Of God Didn't Last.