She didn't think she was real. Not in the normal, disassociative way. She truly believed that she had been dreamt up, sometimes by me, sometimes by multiple people, sometimes by the internet it self.

But she was real. She was so real. It made me angry, how real she was. I was just this... idea of a person, trying to fill itself up with pieces of Faith. To be the lack of anything. And she was always herself, always shining more bright than I ever could. I could only ever reflect a mere fraction of the light of God

God isn't talking to me the way He used to. It terrifies me. I miss seeing messages in everything. My Mother says she's proud of me for letting go of it. I don't think I'm letting go, though. I don't even think I'm getting better.