Janis Joplin. Killin it.
I have this urge to confess, like, everything. It’s bordering on compulsion. Really, I could never get away with murder–it would be like The TellTale Heart. The secret would drive me mad.
Which, OK. Confession is no alien concept in our society, especially among Christians. It’s been drilled into our heads that confession leads to redemption, confession wipes away the slate, confession leaves us clean. Confession, to either a priest or God (depending on your sect) is generally regarded as a good thing.
Leave it to me to make it weird.
My problem is that I am an inappropriate confessor. I confess things, like, out of nowhere to people who don’t really care and really are probably the most inappropriate people to confess things to.
Last night, I was laying in my bed after taking some Non-Drowsy Robotussen DM and a (couple) shot(s) of brandy (I figured it was the absence of alcohol that made the DM non drowsy, so I could just supplement it by adding my own alcohol when I needed it to be drowsy, thereby making my Robotussen DM much more versatile. Even though, in hindsight, this is really not something I’d recommend as I had a series of dreams that were really just weird and gory, and I’d blame them on my love of zombie/Wives of King Henry VIII books and True blood, but for the fact that I’d self-medicated and that is most likely the source and the cause)…
…when I was seized by the compulsion to confess.
Last night, after I’d taken my cold medicine cocktail, as I was floating serenely to sleep, as I was awash in a haze of half-details from memories that would combine in my subconscious to form the basis of the night’s dreams…I was gripped with an urge to confess.
I was in the middle of my nightly prayers, my mind was wandering, and as I was thanking God for my wonderful life, thoughts of events from the past few years that I’m not too proud of began to creep into my unguarded mind (yes I guard my mind from negative thoughts, call me a hippie then!).
And the thing with me is that in my mind, there is no “lessening with time.” My cheeks still burn with the memory of the time I fell in front of everyone in 8th-grade Gym.
I have this ideal of myself that I continually fall short of because the person who I’d like to be uses perfect grammar, can diagram a sentence, knows every word you throw at her, is always calm, demure, graceful, organized, beautiful, well-maintained, impeccably dressed, has a killer career, can walk in 5-inch heels, can accessorize her ass off, can drive a pickup, refurbishes furniture, knows her way under the hood of a car, gardens, cooks everything from scratch, never loses her temper, is always patient, has super soft skin, has great hair and nails, smells good, is in shape, is the perfect daughter, never hurts anyone’s feelings, remembers people’s’ birthdays, loves to help people and, above all else, can get any man she wants and never experiences rejection.
It is critical that I embody all of these qualities at all times for me to experience a positive self-image.
And in any situation where I fail to embody all of these qualities (namely, like, every situation ever in life) I feel the need to confess and explain my imperfections in hopes that my explanation will lead to redemption, thereby achieving perfection in a roundabout sort of way.
In a way,
I’m doing it now.
This blog is sort of my confession. With every entry, I experiment with sharing a part of myself that I’ve tried to keep hidden, be it the bitter, the fearful, the unsure or the–er–compulsive confessor.
So last night,
I was floating/praying, when the urge to confess gripped my chest as I thought of this dude who, in my mind, I was totally weird to.
I sort of met him while I was going through my 2007-2008 annual breakdown and I sort of transferred that onto him, and since I’m sort of coming off my 2010 annual breakdown I just feel the need to compulsively confess why, two years ago, I was a little weird (not that I’m ever really “normal” per say or sei or whatever).
No real life lesson, just…savin a little money on therapy by writin it out. Even though now, I have a full-time job! I start Monday (a total freakin miracle, and one I will definitely be blogging about soon)! Here’s hoping I don’t abandon this blog now that I can afford psychoanalysis =)
Jk–I need writing like I need confession.
- TV ‘murder confessor wasted police time’ (independent.co.uk)
A Case of Conscience. Confessors and Contraception (chiesa.espresso.repubblica.it)
Absolution to Conversion (beliefnet.com)