Young Writers Society

This is an interesting little thread idea which I picked up in other hallowed halls of internet literature. The idea is this - you log out of your normal username, log into this one [whose password is simply 'confess'] and write a confession, something that people don't know about you.

The only provisios are that you must maintain anonymity completely - don't post anything about the situation that would reveal who you are such as names, places, dates, etc - and that you must not identify other people in your confession. This is about you, and it's terribly bad form to expose someone else in any way, a violation of trust.

Remember, the username is simply 'The Confessional' and the password is 'confess'.

Enjoy. I'll start us off.

From Nate: Please keep in mind that any moderator or JM can still tell who you are.

^Not true.

I think you're possibly the most incredible person I've never met, and I hope oneday to see you face-to-face. I'm incredibly scared that you might hate me.

Good idea, Confessional.


I feel as though my life needs something more to it. I have a secret that I want to share, but I'm afraid that my life would totally change if I told it. Even if this is a secret confessional.


(It just feels nice to say that.)


-Will one day tell- <---- Not a username, just a psuedonym?

you took something from me I should never have given you, but if I had the choice? I'd do it again, without a doubt.

Sometimes I think you all just need to chill out and be young, not so naive.

I put you above everyone else. I trusted you and you tore me down piece by piece, but yet I still care. I still see you and hurt. My mistake was obvious but I wouldn't take it back. I guess you'd say I got what I deserve.

So I was wrong and you’re a real person after all, and maybe I’ve driven by your house without even knowing it, and maybe there are flowers in front, but I wouldn’t know. There are things you like to do and I don’t know what any of them are, and there are people you love and I’ll never be one of them. It’s both crushing and fascinating to imagine you entwined with another lady, but when I imagine you telling her you love her, it’s like someone is putting out the stars one by one inside me. What would you think if you knew all this? Would you never want to see me again or would you be kind about it all? I don’t know which would be worse. I’ll never tell.

Sometimes things in my head come out a little more than I want them to.

If I ever even talk to you, if I ever bathe in your eyes,
I"m going to try and tell the truth.
Whether or not you return the favor in the end.

There's no more innocence. I yearn for it, but it's gone, forever. Ripped irrevocably from my being.

Unlike you?

I'm gonna be truthful when I softly reveal my love for you, my secret love for your kindness and your beauty and your joy and laughter and the Christianity I see in your eyes....but I'll also be telling the truth when I tell to you a tale so dark and sinful and twisted and fragmented that I fear you won't be so forgiving or kind after you hear it. It's dark here in my soul, and for some reason, I've made you my only hope for sanity. And no, ma'am, that's no an attempt to be cute. It's sadly, true.

If you ever cuddle with me or old my hand or drive me to one of your habitat for hummanity projects or take me to your church retreats or if you ever kiss me, don't think of me as me. Think of me as a stalker, creep, pervert, sadomasochistic, gutless mindless heartless godless coward. A bag of filth. You won't sleep with an eighteen year-old kid, you'll sleep with eighteen years' accumulation of fragmented filth. If you're my Virgin Mary, then I'm Satan.

That's truth, not innocence, my love.

That is, if I ever talk to you. [That's the hell of it. None of this, none of me and none of you, will matter cause beyond a little smile or a sliver of of .7 mm lead, we never shared anything and -unless I shock myself into feeling before graduation in four days- never will. Fate's a b*tch. ]

It's time for me to move on. It's been time for me to move on, only I either couldn't or didn't want to. I'm not as weak as I was when we talked and I'm no longer begging for you to listen and be there for me. I admit that I need help and I appreciate the messages that made me feel a little better about myself. The thought of moving on used to scare me but now I realize that you were a big part of the old me--hope when I was scared, although you really weren't--but not a part of the new me. Maybe a little part of me but not a big part.

It's time to make room for people that care about me and that aren't going to hurt me as badly as you did. You don't have to remind me that I brought a lot of that hurt on myself but you didn't really help matters. You weren't there when I needed you. Maybe you really didn't know what to say or maybe you're just a jerk or maybe both.

I don't regret anything but let me move on and let me be freed from watchful eyes.

I'm terrified people talk about me behind my back, and only pretend to like me because I'm sensitive. You can never tell whether or not someone is telling the truth. I also think I'm a bit paranoid and others might realize that and won't like me anymore...

^ -- ^
I have the exact same fear.


No one pushed me into that cubby. I'm pretty sure I just ran into it.

This is a great freak'in idea!!!

I have a few, quite shocking, confessions to make:

I cut myself.

I love to use drugs because they make me not myself.

I still wear diapers, for fun.

That's the biggest I can think of! They're weird, I know, but only a few of you will know who it really is...

You used me. You used me and I hate you for it. I will regret it because I allowed myself to be convinced you had a heart. I was wrong. Even though I knew you were using me I still let you. Hell, I used you too. What we did was a mistake.

Ya know, I stood up for you. Everyone turned there back and still I stood up for you. I have a heart. I have feelings and I hate you. I hate you so much, but I will always try and be your friend because that's who I am.

It was a mistake.