[Private; hackable]
My memories of my childhood feel so far off now. It's very peculiar to have memories you know aren't quite your own. Any knowledge I have that they're not mine is really only something I know rationally; emotionally, it always feels like mine.
I don't really know why I'm writing about it right now. I simply think about it from time to time. It's only natural to think about your family. From beginning to the very end, I was a tool to her, but I don't say that disparagingly. No matter what, what matters to me is that I loved her. To be honest, I wish she had told me that from the beginning: that I was a tool to revive her real daughter. Things might have turned out differently then.