Original sin

I am a bad person.

I know.

I don't know whether this awareness has something to do with my liberal-catholic education, but I do remember one time when I was six, we had to go and confess at the local church. A whole bunch of small, noisy kids on the way to the priest and his small, awfully silent box. My heart nearly stood still when I pulled away the dusty curtain and saw his beard from behind the wooden holes. "I'm sorry I hit my little brother. I'm sorry I didn't clean up my room although mommy had asked me to." He forgave me. What for? Was what I had done so bad? I felt worse coming out of that box than before I went in. An enormous feeling of guilt overwhelmed me, making me break out in tears for the rest of the afternoon.

Eighteen years later:

"I'm sorry I kissed that girl because she's been dating the same guy for over three years."

Free me, please.