Having to return to a burning home

The same book that granted my mom hope has broken me down, what taught her resilience and strength is what taught me vulnerability and weakness, it's a paradox. I was introduced into this religion by fear, removing all of what I enjoy in life, and accepting that my afterlife will be spent with blazing fire that would burn me until no remains are left then revived to repeat the same cycle.

It's impossible to deny God to her, because how could something that has helped her when she was in shambled be a major reason why her daughter is like this. Surely it was a mishap, all her daughter needs to do is just pray and the answer will be clear to her, to someone who has already been questioning God long before she knew the basics of this religion.

I am afraid to return to God if God exists more than an idea. Endless nights of turmoil were caused by my religion, all the sharp edges of the knife were buried deep in my skin to mold myself into the perfect worshipper, the perfect slave. An obedient silent machine was created, doing nothing more than what she was programmed to do. I was praised for being like that, I was finally perfect to anyone who has only seen the front. Now I'm left to gather all the aftermath of that period of time. 

It's unbearable to head back to what has caused major fears and getting more "sins" than doing any good deeds. I'll force myself to teach this through compassion, but I will never forget the moment I knelt down and begged God to blind me if that meant I would be completely forgiven with trembling hands and knees.

In the end, it is my duty, because I would want to make my mother proud more than finding true freedom.