Spring, death and the beginnings of madness

Though I had not believed in His existence since my youth of hymns and Sunday school, God began to talk to me, first in a whisper and later, in loud, threatening tones. My father spoke to me, too. Sometimes his presence was invisible, but sometimes I would see him sitting at the end of my bed, seemingly looking straight through me with his eyes, ice blue. It would be the first of many psychoses.

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