Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
I think about cutting at least twice a day. Right after I think about what it would feel like to lay on the cold metal of a train track and jump up at the last second- or maybe not at all. Maybe just let it roll over me.
Half the time I’m not really sure I even know what love is. I spend holidays wishing I knew why my father didn’t seem to have any trouble replacing me. So I stand in the mirror, tears running down my face, and call him every word I can think of.
There was a time when I might have been an alcoholic because life sober was one of the most miserable things I could think of. And it only got worse when my friends introduced me to the other things. And I was stupid enough to believe I was living then. But lucid dreams seemed so magical.
I didn’t eat for three weeks once because I wanted, and still want, so badly, to be perfect. And that’s why I have rules. I need to be as close to perfect as possible. Because the world appreciates perfect people.
And I’ll probably never be happy. Not 100%. Because I’m broken. And everybody wants to fix me. No one ever accepts it. And with every failed attempt I crack a little more, which means the next person wants me even less. But I get it. Nobody drinks from a chipped glass or rides a bike with a bent wheel.
So I smile. I smile because in the right light, I might be kind of okay to look at. I might be kind of okay to love. And I go to church because if I pray hard enough you might forgive me for making such a mess of the life you blessed me with. I wish on clocks and pennies and stars because I need all the help I can get and I need to believe in anything.
Because I have a hell of a hard time believing in myself.
I'm probably the only person who brings a pre-written admission of feelings into confessional. There's no rule against it. For a while, it's nothing. Just breathing. Then, meekly, he says, "Do you solemnly swear you will try your best to change?"
"No. I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life, Father. That's the point. I'm tired of fixing. Of changing. Why does no one get that?"
"My child...change is a necessary part of life."
"Then you change."
I stopped going after that. God only knows what the priest thinks of me now.
YOU ARE READING
Welcome to Tinsel Town
Non-FictionTinsel Delaney tells her whole life story and holds nothing back. Follow her through her parents' divorce, her first time masturbating, and dealing with the death of a lover. It's as psychotic as she is. (Vignette style)
