My Confession Part 1

“Forgive me father for I have sinned” I begin to say after I have firmly planted my knees on the stiff, unpadded bench in front of the thin screen that barely conceals my identity from the holy man.
“Yes my child” he immediately answers, and I can almost make out his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, as he swallows two Advil before I begin. He should have taken them about twenty minutes ago, so that they would already be kicking in, as it would ease the time that is slowly slipping by him. I am about to embark on my weekly hour and a half long confession. If I had been especially wicked in the past week, I almost gush for two full hours, and by the end of it, I can make out that he is fidgety, like he has to go to the restroom, or that he has been sitting too long and needs to stretch.
When I start to confess my sins to Father Rusty, immediately I feel fire and heat rush to my face as I try my best to recount the events that happened since my last confession. The hardness of the bench, the soft murmurings of other parishioners praying outside the confessional booth, or the organ playing softly in the background fade away, as I intensely focus on the task of freeing my soul. At times, the shame and guilt of what I have done and how I have screwed up my life once again take control over my voice and it cracks and breaks, temporarily choked back with the sound of tears. Once I get past the initial feelings of disgrace, I am able to remove some the emotion out of the retelling. After I am beyond the first couple of wrongs committed, the words start to tumble out of my mouth faster than can be understood and I begin to feel lightheaded by the time I am halfway done.
This week has had its moments that I know I need forgiveness for. From cursing at the stupid driver that cut me off on Tuesday to loosing my temper on Friday, my sins run the gamut of varying degrees of evil. I do take a small amount of pride in the fact that I am not nor never have I ever been an axe-murder, but I know that I have jokingly said that I wish I could kill so and so for what they have done to me. If just thinking something bad about someone is like committing the sin, then I am really in trouble because I am always thinking or am trying to think of a comeback to a verbal assault that I have just survived. While I am not a vengeful person, I may entertain the idea of getting back at someone for a few minutes, slightly savoring the sweet taste it leaves in my mouth, before abandoning my idea of payback.
Certain things are particularly difficult to confess about. I like to skip over any and all sexual transgressions, as those are sins committed against one’s own body, and carry more weight than others. I like to omit these sins because I do not want the priest to think I am a whore for having sex outside the confines of marriage and do not want to describe any details to him. While he has never openly condemned me for anything I have told him, I still am a little afraid of it happening. So I generally try to avoid the whole topic, so that it does not come up.
There is something about admitting that you did something wrong to someone else that takes a small amount of the guilt away. It is comforting to me to know that I am facing the same demons and temptations that my fellow man is also undergoing and can be forgiven of the sin and can begin to try again to do right. Someday, I would like to be able to withstand the assaults to my character, and not give in to the persuasive power of sin. I just wish that the priest that I confess to-Father Rusty-could also give me penance to do, as I feel that it would be the perfect way to express to God how sorry I am for going astray once more. I also think forgiveness would mean more to me if I had to do something to earn it, instead of effortlessly receiving it. Doing penance may also help me from committing reoccurring sins, as I would not like the punishment that would follow confession.
While I enjoy the feeling of forgiveness that sweeps over me most, I also anticipate and look forward to my confession day. The reliefs I get after attending confession lasts roughly twenty-four hours and I feel slightly empty after the lingerings of euphoria have abandoned me. I enjoy going to confession. I can count the times I have attended Mass or an event at the Catholic Church on one hand. Still, I am fascinated by it as a small child would be by a complicated machine, with awe, and mystery and thinking it works by some cosmic magic that cannot be seen or touched, only felt. Since I am not Catholic, Father Rusty simply listens to me very patiently, analyzes what I have said and suggests a change in behavior, prays over me and blesses me and sends me on my way. Occasionally, he will throw in a story from he is boyhood about how he did something similar to what I am describing, and this never fails to strike me as funny, because I am reminded that he too is also human, and has not always been pure of heart, like he has dedicated himself to now.
I think the reason why I enjoy confession is because it is free therapy, and has a cleansing effect on my soul. Each time I complete my Saturday afternoon ritual, I feel like I have been given another chance at life and get a small rush off of the newfound liberty that is mine to enjoy. I know I have a problem forgiving myself for things I have done in the past, because there is no way to go back in time and correct them. But if Father Rusty can give me forgiveness, then maybe I can start to forgive myself.