Bless me father for I have sinned…
Iam afraid it has been three years since my last confession. I stopped coming to church after I left home and I confess my family too. I just.. I use to have this overpowering feeling to do things. I don’t know things I couldn’t do because of my religion. I just felt, you know, I would finally feel free, if I did them. It started to consume me, I kept thinking about all the things I wasn’t allowed to do. That’s when I started wearing make-up. It was a lipstick first, my mum had thrown it out because she had worn it down to the end. Only i could stick my little finger in and still get the last dregs. I remember how it felt on my lips for the first time. Silky… oily. My lips waltzed with each other as I spoke. It was bright red the colour of raw meat. I remember waking up the next morning. My right cheek burned against the coolness of my pillow. As I got out of bedI heard a scratchy, scattering sound as the individual beads from rosary necklace hurtled to the floor. I went to the door but they had sealed me in. They left me there for 2 days. I never understood why until I left. He’d hit me. Oh i knew that, I knew dad had hit me. I’m lucky thats all he did considering. Now that I know. That I’m different. Not normal. Messed up. I was diagnosed with Schizophrenia last year. It was relief to finally put a name to what was wrong with me. The doctors said I would be fine, all i have to do is not wear make up. Turns out make up to me is like heroin to a junkie. I can’t stop myself from using. I promise you father, I still have faith, its just she doesn’t. I feel ashamed, what that passage in Mark, chapter 4, verse 43? ‘If you hand causes you to sin, cut it off. For it is better for you to be crippled, then with 2 hands go to hell.’ Well what if you had 2 pairs of hands? Tell me that father, what would god do then? You know its ironic that women put on this makeup to look beautiful or whatever. When i wear it, thats when things start to turn ugly.