I need to come clean, if not for anyone else, at least for myself and for my own sanity and well-being. I’ve spent so much time ignoring my problems, hoping they’ll just miraculously heal on their own, but as we all know, that only makes them fester. I believe I am a good person but I have bad urges, bad tendencies, and they’ve only increased over the years. What started as a one-off experiment quickly became an addition to my daily routine, which soon grew into a compulsion, and then a full-blown addiction.

This is for all those I’ve contacted, imposed upon, and harassed with my sick indiscretions. I know exactly what I said, every word of it, but still, I have trouble remembering all the names of those I’ve approached. I can't even begin to count the number of women I’ve messaged over the last couple years. It’s probably far higher than I would like imagine and far more embarrassing. I’ve roped them into talking with me about sex, death, and the sordid life of a male performer, all for the sake of getting myself off. These conversations were entirely one-sided, with me eliciting specific responses I already have calculated in my head, manufacturing a fantasy so abstract I don’t even know the root of it, but I do know that it stimulates me. Some of the times my advances were reciprocated (for fun, I assume), sometimes I paid for the conversations, and other times I was flat out denied, which I respected. But when one door closed, I would just willfully look for another, and another, and then another, until I found someone to satisfy me enough so I could return to reality and move on with the rest of my day. Regardless of who chose to talk to me on their own accord, it’s the subject matter that’s truly damning, a clear reflection of my mental instability. I mean, what kind of healthy person fantasizes about suicide? I’ve felt lost and out of control, like a spider caught in its own web.

I’ve also lied to those I claimed to love, feeding them false promises that I’ll change and that it would never happen again, but as I’ve proven time and time again, my words are bullshit. I know I could’ve stopped myself. I saw the futility in it all and I knew the danger, yet I didn’t bother to do anything. I guess I didn’t even care enough to try. I’ve come to realize I don’t know how to love because I don’t know what it means to love myself.

Deep down, I really do think I’m a good person, but whatever I might believe about myself is meaningless if my actions say otherwise. I am beyond ashamed of myself, and I know I can't undo the damage I’ve caused. I can only hope to move forward and do my best to take the necessary steps to learn, examine, and own up to all my failures and mistakes in order to correct my behavior and become the person I want to see looking back at me in the mirror.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.