"step into that line processional"

So is confession actually so very good for the soul? I try to only keep 2 or 3 dead, dark secrets, and even those I have confessed to at least one other person.
I try to keep other people’s secrets. Except that it frequently seems that in order for people to be understood those secrets need to come out. I need to recognize and validate that perhaps others are not as interested in being understood as I am.

This is one reason I gave up speaking almost entirely in slang. As a youth I didn’t much want to be understood, except by those willing to make the extra effort which then served to reinforce my belief in my "specialness". I prefered to obfuscate everything to everyone except those very particular people and then those who could prove their membership in my tribe by understanding the patois.

Now, even though I have grave doubts that I ever will be understood, I attempt to be as absolutely precise with my language as I know how to be. Oddly enough this is my logic behind making up words, sometimes a made up word feels more precise to me than any words that I already know.

Confession feels wistful, a little sad, defiant, panicky and a tremendous plunge. It causes lip biting, backward glances and backward pride.
One feels like sitting back with arms tightly crossed awaiting the fallout and aftermath, dreading and yet knowing that shadow returns always for triumphant integration, to become whole one must thoroughly know, embody and accept the depths of the night and the full spectrum of light.