Capital G, God in Tell My Past I'm Sorry

I have no corsets to hide in. I have no frills or frocks to adapt my body to perfection. I wish my waist was thinner and I wish my hips were wider and I wish I was prettier and I wish I was happy. I wanted so much control over my body that I lost it. I say I can stop whenever I want. I say that I’m fine and I know what I’m doing. Let’s be honest, I’m addicted and will never get my fix. I stare at my reflection in every shining surface I find trying to see which one will reverse the mind tricks my own brain is playing on me. If I pinch here and here maybe they’ll like me more- cover up, it’s judgement day and this hell is of my own creation. There are no jeans I can buy that’ll make me happy with my body and trust me, I’d pay anything to feel satisfied with the torture I’ve put myself through to feel worthy. There is no plot to this writing, for there is no plot to my life; I’m drowning in calories and spinning in a rotating door of self-love and self-loathe that I can’t find the exit to. People say God gives the biggest challenges to the strongest people but I am so weak and tired that I just want to quit. Where is your God when I need Him most? I’m walking up a downward escalator trying to get to heaven and I keep ending up in hell. Where is your God when I need His help? How do I fight to stay alive when I know I have five to seven more years of destroying myself. I tell myself I’m happy but in reality I’m miserable but at least I’m thin, right? Right God?