Bad God

The other day Pinkie Pie woke up and wandered into the kitchen to chat with me.  She opened up with "I don't think God exists.  But if God does exist, he is a jerk because he gives people depression and anxiety."

Heavy start to the morning, that.

I talked to her about how her statement is a common argument against the God of the Bible existing, because yes, either God chooses to allow suffering for no reason, or God cannot stop it, and that makes that version of God either a jerk or powerless... and the God of the Bible is not powerless.

I guess I have raised myself a confirmed little atheist.  (No one is surprised.)

Despite me being pleased about her conclusions, I felt angry. 

Not at Pinkie Pie, of course.  Rather, I was proud of her for figuring this out and happy that she blamed her struggles with mental health on chance, fate, biology, whatever, but happily not on herself.  I am sure she does the same thing most people do which is to sometimes blame these problems on herself and sometimes on the universe at large.  We aren't good at apportioning blame.

But I wish so much I could fix this.  I wish I could fight it, and her suffering makes me scream inside with the want to do *something*, anything, that will stop it.  Anger surges up at the world, at this suffering that must be endured, suffering that I am responsible for but cannot remedy.

At least she knows what it is that she is experiencing and has words for it.  At least she knows she can talk about it with me, and is willing to come for help.  These are good things.

I want so much for their to be more good things though.