I think I've already told everyone here my biggest, most horrible secrets, so they aren't really secrets anymore, even though I wouldn't tell anyone in real life. The abortion is the worst, and the weird childhood fetishes are what I am second least likely to feel comfortable talking about.
I guess right now, though, where I am, having already shared the things that I feel strongly enough about that my mentioning them gives others the power to harm me in ways I couldn't handle, all I have left to confess is my bizarre paranoia about the meaning of my life.
I'm secretly afraid that I don't have enough faith in the strength of my faith to be saved, which is an implosive death loop. Ironically, this fear comes from the fact that most of my life is shaped like this same form of self annihilative spiral (the true meaning behind the name "snail"), which is the symbol I associate with the ultimate fate of the damned, borrowed from someone else's end times visions. Being an annihilationist, I don't believe in hell, but I do see a pattern in my own life that frightens me. When the spiral implodes at the center, it creates some kind of inescapable singularity. I can feel myself moving toward it. Some of my most traumatic experiences have also been in this form: being harmed for being harmed, being punished for trying to escape a situation where not doing so would lead to punishment, where the more my natural responses try to save me from what I fear, the more I am subjected to the source of that fear as a consequence. My last relationship imploded until there was nothing left, predictably, because everything I touch turns to nothingness. I used to obsess about the idea of "nothing" and what it meant, back when I was a tiny child first trying to grasp the concept. I would sit there for hours pondering it, trying to imagine how it could exist, because the moment it existed, the fact of it being there to exist would nullify it. "Nothing is still something," I would say. This was another of those paradoxes, the first I was consciously aware of. It must have gotten inside of me somehow, maybe in the recurring nightmares where I was possessed by demons and could feel my vision shifting to red. I'm so fearful most of the time, to the point of being faithless, but I rarely admit it to anyone.
