Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have never confessed in this way before and so I come before you, humbled. I am alone.
I have committed many sins through my life. I have lied to my parents, to my friends, to my teachers. I have even lied to myself. All this time, I've just been lying to myself. And in the deceit, and the things I've kept from my parents ... I've only ensured that I'm just going to have to lie more. To cover up.
Take an example. My arm. The scar is there for everyone to see: a bright brown line that cuts across. How long is it? I'd say about an inch, perhaps an inch and a half. Not too long.
But I told my parents it was an accident. I said the computer table -- known to be sharp and somewhat dangerous -- cut me. Did they ever guess the truth? Somehow I doubt it. I mean, why would I self harm? Why should I?
I'll tell you why. Because I'm pathetic and attention-seeking. I think of no one but myself and I didn't even pause. Bekah was right to hate me for that.
And then there's the letter I sent that I never told you about. The internet sites I subscribed to and had to lie about the post I got, saying I didn't know why it was coming to our house, saying it had to be a mistake. So many lies, painting my heart black.
And don't get me started on the things I've told my friends. So many lies! Thousands of them. And then there are the things I have told myself. Then there are the memories that I've implanted in my mind and the hopes and dreams which aren't my soul. I don't even know who I am any more.
But that's the least of it. Telling a lie, keeping things from my parents, and the self-harm itself ... that's the least of it. There is so much more to come.