I was raised Jewish, and even though all my friends were atheists, I still believed in God. I was just so grateful for everything I had in my life. I had a family that loved me, I lived in a beautiful town, and had really awesome friends. I observed the sabbath on friday nights and went to temple on the high holy days. I prayed along with everyone else and I imagined God hearing my prayers and smiling, knowing that his children loved him as much as he loved us. Then, when I was 19, I was diagnosed with cancer. I never once blamed him for it, or even questioned why he had done it. I would say "I don't know why you're making me and my family go through this, but I know you will give me strength."
The months of painful chemotherapy dragged on, but still I kept my faith. On days I was feeling better, I even thanked him for not making me feel so sick that day. I thanked him, escapist. After all that had happened to me I thanked him. I wonder if abused children do this. If on days their parents don't beat them they go up to their tormentors and say thank you. It makes me sick to think about.
After my last treatment, the doctor told me that although I was done with the initial chemo, I would still need to come in for tests every month, as the cancer could come back. That was the first night I had asked God for anything in over ten years. I asked him, begged him, pleaded with him to make this the end. Every day I prayed. Every day I asked him to spare my family from the anguish that they went through when I first got diagnosed. When I got sick, my parents had to quit their jobs, my sister had to put her engagement on hold, and my friends would send me cards telling me they were thinking of me and hope I got better. I didn't even care about me, I wanted to stay healthy for them.
But then, three months later, I was informed that they had found another tumor in my lungs, and that I would require immediate surgery to have it removed...I didn't understand. I had prayed. I had followed his commandments. I had been a good person my whole life and did nothing to deserve this. It was then that I realized that God doesn't care about anyone else. He doesn't care about me, or my family or my friends or anyone that could ever mean anything to me. And why would he? He's made trillions of living creatures on this planet alone and he kills all of them on a daily basis. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children die every day. Why would I even think that he cares about us any more than he would care about a dog or a cat, or an insect? They are all alive and they all die eventually. I still think he's there, but he just doesn't care about us. That's what I believe now.