Well, it depends

It's times like these, when my suffering is no more and mercy is all I see, that I regret not drawing to you, God. So much regret. During the suffering, I ran away more than I ran to you. You were a nonentity and my only thought of you was that you were some screwed up concoction I made in my mind so I wouldn't be lonely. Ain't it the truth. I'm so abysmally lonely. My eagerness to seek you depends so much on my mood and the time of day and which way the wind is blowing.

Seeing my wretchedness before I knew you, and my continuing rebellion against you, I get so sick in the stomach I want to throw up. Since you're the staple of all holiness, how much more pissed and upset you must be at me.

Praise your son, God. Praise him for everything. I don't care what Albert says. God, you are so good. You're the only good thing in my life. I love you so much.