Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Confessions.
You Can't Poke Fun at Cancer
I had heard the spiel before, though the miles of paperwork and intricate details of the treatment plan were, admittedly, rather new. Frankly, I had been told all I needed to know. I had Breast Cancer, stage two or three, and it was invasive ductal carcinoma with multiple affected lymph nodes, or something to that effect. At age 33, with a nursing one year old daughter and two other children ages five and three, that was more than enough to process at the time. I had spent the requisite hours in a sobbing puddle of mess and had reconciled with whatever treatment would entail: hair loss, sickness, double mastectomy, scars. Regardless of what else was in store, I had finished processing to the extent I was able. In fact, it had taken some convincing by my first doctor, for me to believe I had anything but some “cheese curds plugging my milk ducts.” It was one of my jokes, that he had most decidedly not laughed at. Honestly, the poor young surgeon looked like he might cry and that was what hit me like a punch in the gut. How serious does breast cancer have to be, for your small town general surgeon to be in tears? That was the beginning of a dizzying spiral into the abyss of panic.
By Julie Courtney3 years ago in Confessions
Funny Sexy Times
He was hilarious. Just a natural-born comedian, he consistently made my cheeks ache from laughter. I had my funny moments too. Because of that, we connected immediately. I looked forward to seeing him when I arrived at my internship and eagerly anticipated our entertaining lunches together. His humor made me feel good, and who doesn’t want to feel good?
By Robin Jessie-Green3 years ago in Confessions
The struggle of fitting in
If there’s one place in the world I hated being it would’ve been middle school. It’s like the hormone breeding ground for pre pubescent teenagers and the awkward right before high school stages. Like in every early coming of age teen movie I’ve seen there are always cliques. You’ve got the popular girls, the jocks, the brainiacs and then there’s me. I was an outcast. Never really fit in anywhere and always the new kid. It sucked. I’d attended a summer camp before the school year had started. That’s when I saw him. A boy shrouded with a group of girls. I’d never thought I’d see him again; oh boy was I wrong. Not only did I see him again but we had classes together. Remember that for later on. His name was Jack. When I saw Jack for the first time it was at Scicon but it was brief and I had an instant crush on him kind of like how you see someone in an airport or on a bus but you never see them again. We had the same PE period and teacher so naturally I ran into him often and I was always flustered. One day for pe we had to play soccer. Back then I really wanted to be on the soccer team so I thought I was a prodigy. We were divided onto teams and started our game. One of his teammates passed him the ball and I ran to get the ball so I could score a goal. I almost had it but we ended up going different directions so I kicked him on the shin directly above the part of the lower leg where his leg and foot connected. After the game was over and before we had to go back to the locker room to change he confronted me about it in front of the whole team. I saw a huge red mark from where I kicked him and I apologized. Embarrassed, I dredged back to the locker room with my head hung low in shame to change my clothes for next period. In my defense the shoes I had on were not running shoes. I sat in my next class replaying what had happened and got embarrassed all over again. After the period was over I met my friend for lunch and told her about it. She was the only friend I had. She was shocked because we all had the same pe period but we were on different teams. She didn’t laugh at me and knew I liked him so she just made sure I was ok. After I told her we had a good laugh about it. The last period of the day was english. This was the only other period where he and I had the same class. It was english and we were sitting at the same group of four desks with two other people. I was still embarrassed about what happened a few hours prior so I couldn’t look up at him. When we finally acknowledged each other and I apologized for kicking him he kind of laughed it off and said it was ok. I had never spoken to him before that encounter. He was actually really nice. We talked about the writing assignment we had to do for class to kind of break the ice. He was surprised to see that I was almost done with my paper in its entirety despite having a blank piece of paper at the start of the period. Writing fiction stories was the only thing I was good at. I remember the whole day in great detail and smiling like an idiot the whole walk home.
By Kemaini3 years ago in Confessions
Silenced by Society
I have always been told that I need to "conform" in order to be more palatable. I received this advice as "minimize who you are so that others can accept you." What if acceptance is not what one seeks? What if I simply prefer to be who I was created to be; unapologetically me! You see I was born in the 80s which was an interesting time to be created. I was raised in the 90s which was the era of expression, creativity, individuality and less judgement. Flash forward to 2021 and it seems that majority of people want you to tiptoe around your true feelings and ONLY express what is pleasing to the majority of society. On the one hand we live in an era where things that were typically frowned upon are now highly accepted and encouraged. "Be You" is what they scream from the rooftops while simultaneously silencing those who stand firm in their beliefs. They say "accept people for who they are" while also saying "hey don't say that you may hurt feelings!" So my question is which one is it? You can't have it both ways. One who wants to be accepted must also learn to accept that which may go against their choices/preferences; why can't both types of people exist? Why do I have to think like you in order to be liked and understood? What ever happened to agreeing to disagree? Why can't you see a white dress and I see the gold one and we BOTH be right? Is it absolutely necessary for people to agree with you in order for you to be comfortable in YOUR OWN SKIN? Since when did it become the job of others to make US happy? Happiness comes from within right or is that just a cute little cliche? How long will those who oppose certain things be silenced by society before eventually losing their own voice? In the end; whose right and who's wrong? Can both not co-exist?
By Lelelapoete Speaks3 years ago in Confessions
Two Lies and a Truth
A Lie: me to me When someone asks me what keeps me up at night, what mistake from the past will haunt me till my dying day, what cringe cannot be undone, the moment that comes to mind is when I pretended someone else's writing was mine.
By yanina maysonet3 years ago in Confessions
Going Home
My father walked me down the aisle when I was 19 years old. As we stood in the back of the chapel waiting for our cue he squeezed my hand and said "Are you sure? Just let me know and we'll keep on walking out the back door." I laughed and told him I was sure.
By Judey Kalchik 3 years ago in Confessions
Didn’t You Know That Wearing a Mask Makes Your Arms Fall Off?
Last week, I met a new guy and 15 minutes later I called him a “f**king idiot”. In the midst of a pandemic, covid-related subjects come up quickly in a conversation. He happened to say he doesn’t wear a mask at his workplace because he wants to “breathe properly”.
By Diana Bernardo3 years ago in Confessions
Small Town Girl Meets Big City.
I’m not sure what I was thinking accepting a college co-op location in the big city of Toronto. I knew nothing of city life, growing up in a small community two hours north. It was only a month-long stint for our final credit before graduation, and I chose a cottage magazine publisher that spoke to my rural roots. I wore a pinstriped suit, hair pulled back so neatly I must have resembled a child dressing up in her mother’s closet for a fake fashion show.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Confessions
A letter of the deepest and heartfelt reflections.
To my beloved friend, and my dearest love, Time is a tester of the quality of two souls who claim to be in love. Pain is the tool, and agony is the rod. Affliction is the refiner of patience between two who have deep feelings invested in each other, and the resolve to remain affectionate, to remain soft, to remain tenderhearted towards each other. I would say with total confidence, that my investment in you, was worth every shekel and every hay-penny, spent. My calculations on such an investment, despite my shrewdness and ability with handling numerical quantities, couldn’t accurately predict the value you have brought into my life. Though at times I may be ignorant of your emotions, and unaware of how certain responses may hurt you despite the truthful words spoken boldly with all due sincerity, and with earnest intent, you have cherished me without question and loved me, all the more deeply. I owe you much, so very much indeed. I praise you for the steadfast patience towards our friendship, our bond. I would confess with all due humility, that I am not the easiest soul to love, nor is it easy to cherish such a bond with me. But you, despite the odds and the criticism of proud mockers saying otherwise, and the scorners treating us with contempt, such disdain has neither dissuaded us, nor discouraged us, from loving each other, all the more.
By Jordan Zuniga3 years ago in Confessions
How I Pranked My Mom
I live in a small town called Evansville and in the flat state of Indiana. Don't worry, this isn't like one of those Pinterest recipes you saw that start off talking about the Pilgrim age of doing things. I'll do my best to get straight to the point. My husband and I pranked my mom. Well, really it was his idea, and I might have tweaked some wording to make it sound like me.
By Vanessa R. Powell3 years ago in Confessions
Dream Date?
My mother reminds me regularly that I’m getting older and can’t afford to be so picky when it comes to a life partner. “You’ll end up on the shelf”. Of course I know what she means but I’m always tempted to remark, “Shelf, what shelf? Is it solid wood, veneer or plastic?”
By Margaret Cioffi3 years ago in Confessions