Usher made an album about his confessions. He confessed to a lot. He is yet to confess to being a sub-standard musician and a bit of a twat.
They say a problem shared is a problem halved. The exception to this rule, of course, is leprosy. If you share that, the problem is doubled. It could even grow exponentially, in a hockey stick graph.
But then, the amount of limbs falling off could halve the problem.
This theory needs some work.
I really don’t have much of a problem spilling my beans. It is my job. I am an emotional whore, willing to cash in on my problems and secrets for the chance of some laughter to recharge my self-esteem battery and keep me warm at night.
The thing is, the more gory details you tell people about yourself, the more people are willing to open up to you and tell you their confessions. Although I don’t want to hear about your fetish for eating soap and blowing bubbles out your nose. Although hearing that would make me feel ok about my fetish for sticking things up my nose to make myself sneeze.
It’s funny how certain topics make people clam up. Things like death, fear and cannibalism will often cause a lot of tension, but when aired out, they seem to lose their power. It is amazing how many people will eventually admit to being a bit fearful about eating their dead uncle.
And another thing you start to realise, is that no problem is inherently unique. We are all having issues with the same things. All our problems are different versions of each others, just wrapped in different packaging. We have problems with money, the opposite sex (men and women are actually quite different- it’s almost as if we have different hormones pumping through our systems, and opposing sets of reproductive organs) and trying to fit in to a society where ‘fitting in’ is for losers.
I wish my confessions involved saucy encounters, espionage and machine guns. I wish the neck chops in my freezer were of a more controversial meat than lamb. I wish I had an exciting back-story, had overcome adversity, maybe even killed a guy in Reno.
To be honest, my confessions are not particularly sordid. They usually involve bingeing on herbal teas, and making stop motion films of my bruises. The colour changes are spectacular. People have been known to propose in front of my bruises after mistaking the healing process for Aurora borealis. It’s a beautiful thing.
I like confessing. It does diffuse the problem. It’s nice to know that if I tell you about the neighbour’s cat buried in my compost bin, you are now an accessory to the crime.
And if you tell on me, you are a nark.







