“I shouldn’t be going to a therapist for this.” I say outright. “I know this. I am not sad, I am not broken, I am not thinking of doing anything drastic, I have no intrusive thoughts. I am, for all intents and purposes, a functioning member of society. I shouldn’t have to see anyone. This is between me and God. It should be, at least. But—“

“But,” Doctor Elma crosses her legs, “you’ve lost faith, Father.”

“To be entirely honest, I am in doubt whether I’ve ever had it, Miss Elma.”

“Please,” she smiles. “Call me Phoebe. And, to answer your question directly, I am almost certain that you must’ve at one point. After all, how else would you have taken up your mantle?”

I wince. “That, in itself, I guess, could be a part of it. My ‘calling’, if there ever was such a thing.” I wet my lips. “I grew up with religious parents. It’s true that most of my childhood friends were religious. It’s true that I became who I was because I thought I could never be anything else. It’s true that, as a result of all these things, I had the fear of God instilled in me, I guess. But fearing God and believing in God are two different things.”

She scribbles something into the notebook on your lap. “How do you mean?”

“I guess I should explain.” I look to the ceiling. “I have not lost faith in the sense that I don’t believe God exists. That’s not it, at all. Of course he exists. Yes – I understand that an extraordinary claim such as that requires extraordinary evidence and all. But I have nothing to prove. I know. And I know because God allowed me to see. That’s all there is to it. You cannot lose faith in God if you doubt his existence. That’s just you abandoning God.

“To lose faith in God – to stop believing in God – is to doubt that God loves us. I don’t know if you’re a religious person, Miss Elma, but the Church teaches – I teach my congregation – that God loves us all. That God’s love is so beyond our understanding and so infinite that even in your final moments, if you surrender to him, he will accept you into his arms, as sinful and dirty as your soul may be.

“God loves you, and therefore you get to have loving parents. God loves you, and therefore you get to be born into privilege. God loves you, and therefore your found your car keys in your back pocket just in the nick of time, to make it to work for that big meeting. God loves you, and therefore you are loved.

“But God also loves others. God loves you, so you were born in the shit and filth, and left you in a situation where you will either die in that same shit and filth or be gunned down for reasons that are beyond your understanding. God loves you, so that drunk driver ran over your child while it played on the street. God loves you, and therefore you got kidnapped and locked in some crazy bastard’s basement, to be used and tortured for the next decade. And that’s only if God REALLY loves you.

“You know, I woke up today and thought: ‘If God’s love is so mysterious and so beyond our comprehension – can you even call it love?’ If we can’t measure love to our human understanding of it, how can anyone – how can any priest or faithful – how can we even—? How can I even claim to know? How do I believe in Him if he doesn’t actually love me the way I expect to be loved? The way all that is good in me demands for all human beings to be loved?”

I look back down. I don’t think Doctor Elma’s eyes left me for even a second.

“I know that’s selfish.” I continue. “I know I can’t expect my standards to measure up to God’s. I shouldn’t, at least. But there is too much hurt in the world. And that hurt is spreading through the air, and I can’t block it out.

“I feel alone.

“I feel empty.

”I feel abandoned.

”I feel like we’ve all been abandoned.”

“I must admit, Father,” Doctor Elma tells me, “I’m not sure what I can say here to relieve you of your doubts. When it comes to the Bible, I’m personally much more geared towards the God of the Old Testament. The cruel and self-righteous one. That one makes more sense to me.”

“Because he’s more human?” I wonder aloud.

“Because he’s consistent. When that God helps you find your lost keys, you better believe he’ll come back to reap later. When that God locks you in a basement, it’s because he’s mad at you for something you probably never even knew was a mistake. He’s angry. And the anger is ever-reaching. It’s not about being a good person. It’s about you knowing who’s boss.”

“That’s grim.”

“I know.” she smiles. “Thankfully, the kind of God I do believe in is not found in the Bible.”

“And what God is that, if I may ask?”

She tilts her head. “Me. I believe in me.”

“P-Pardon?”

“Do you know the real path to salvation, Father? Believe it or not, in spite of the examples you’ve given me, the things most people need saving from aren’t crazy kidnappers, or war criminals, doubtful priests or even the Devil himself. The thing most people need saving from – is themselves. And believe me, if I have learned anything in my life, it’s that we are the hardest people to beat.

“When I was young, Father, I was put in a mental facility. I was told that I was a danger to myself and others. More than anything, it was to myself. I hated the person I saw in the mirror. I hated the thought of waking up to a new day feeling like a failure. I hated thinking about the future. I wasn’t good at math. I wasn’t a talented writer. I couldn’t wrap my head around history or chemistry or art or – fuck – I hated geography. I was a nobody going nowhere, and I knew it, and deep down, there is a voice still streaming that same lie again and again and again.

“But back then the screaming wasn’t buried. The screaming was loud, and obnoxious, and I felt – hah – alone, and empty and abandoned. Because I was all those things.

“Nobody loved me. And I loved nobody. And I own up to that. I was a despicable, selfish person. And had nothing changed, I would still be in that facility to this day.”

“What changed?” I ask.

“If you cannot love by nature, then you must find and accept the role of being someone who loves. If you cannot be loved, then give the people a need to love you. If you are selfish, then make yourself and the people who follow you one in the same, and be selfish for all your sakes.

“To save myself, I chose to take on the role of God. Your God’s love is mysterious. Mine is not. I love you if you are willing to love me. And if you love me, I will protect you until the end of this world. I will take for you as if I’m taking for myself. I will do whatever despicable thing I must to save you, but know that I will save you. Because I love you. And I love you because I owe you – you love me, after all.”

“...And if they don’t?”

“Hm?”

“What if they don’t… love you?”

Her notebook shuts. “They can fuck off and die.”

I shift in my seat.

“Father.” She re-crosses her legs. “What about you?”

“What… about me?”

“You feel abandoned, because your God has chosen to abandon you. If he’s even real. But look,” she spreads her arms, “I’m here. I’m real. You can see me. You can hear my voice as clear as day. You can touch me, because I’m at just an arm’s reach away. And I have spoken my terms in a few sentences, rather than a giant book whose interpretation remains a subject of debate to this day.

“I am here, Father. And I love you.

“Do you love me?”

“I—“

“Before you answer, Father,” she says, “I want you to look into my eyes. Deep breaths. Please, take a good, long look. Do you see your reflection?”

You see it. It’s beautiful. “I—Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Very good, Father. And do you think this reflection matches the person you want to be?”

No. “No.”

“No.” She clicks her tongue. “Of course, how can it? You’ve set such impossible standards for yourself. You’ve imprisoned yourself in the standards of an entity that’s made itself impossible to love back. It’s cheating. If it gives you immeasurable happiness, you can never repay it back. If it makes you suffer, it’s only because you haven’t tried loving it enough. It sucks you dry, but never truly gives.

“But I, Father – I can give.”

Are we even in the office anymore? My body feels like it is. But where am I? I am here, but far away. My soul is vibrating – finally, there is a melody in the universe for me to dance to. I am not alone. I am here, and she is here, and she is giving.

I can see it. I can see that everything I’ve ever done in my life was a lesson, teaching me to work toward this moment. I have lived trying to show people love and guide them in the right direction. I have tried to filled their voids with the words of God. But I had never truly seen what they needed was not a filling of the void, but merely me.

My existence.

My care.

The comfort.

I am here, Phoebe. You are not alone. You are loved.

And do you feel my love? Look. It’s okay. It’s okay to be angry at the loneliness. At the doubt. At those stupid fucking parishioners who know how to preach but never practice. I feel each and every one of your frustrations. I am here. Hear my voice. Is it not pleasant? It is pleasant. You know it is.

It’s pleasant. Her voice. Her presence. Her smell. I know it is.

The colors of the walls bleed towards me. This is the office, but it’s not the right place. The right place exists only within me. Within my heart. And I see it now, as the outside seeps into me, how empty it’d been all this time. It wasn’t a symptom – it was the disease that I had ignored time and time again.

What I’m doing is beyond manipulation. I am directly tampering with your mind. I am defiling you without saying a word. And yet, does it hurt? Does it feel like I’m doing anything but taking away your pain? Is this not a miracle? Are you not happy?

I am. And I understand.

I know what it happening. I do not understand it, but I know what you’ve done to me. I should hate you on principle, but I can’t find it in my heart to do so. I cannot justify the hatred. Is this your doing? I can never know.

All I know is that there was a place in my head where I felt dark and cold and wrong and now it doesn’t. And I know you changed that. And I know I can’t hate you.

I’ve never felt this way before. Your happiness can never be my happiness, yet you’ve given me my happiness, all the same. You are a miracle worker.

No, beyond that, you are God.

You are God, because you have saved me.

I am here for you from now until the end of time.

All I ask – all I ask of anyone – is that you love me in return.

“I love you.” I say.

“Praise be.” She glances at her wristwatch. “Unfortunately, Father, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today. We’ve actually gone a bit overtime – I happen to have a very eager patient in the lobby, and I’d hate to make them wait any longer.”

I stand from my seat. “Of course. I understand, Doctor Elma.” Phoebe. “I understand, Phoebe. Anything for you.”

“Remember.” she tells me. “You are not alone. Not anymore.”