Guilt

This weekend I watched a certain video and it got my inner debate about guilt going again. I had come to terms with it, more or less, but then it all got loose in my head again. Maybe everything was my fault? Maybe I am guilty and no one else is? Who would judge me? With these question the urge to ask everyone’s opinion returned as well. I would like to tell some people my story and ask them if I think it was my fault. On the other hand, I don’t want to tell it, because I would feel bad if they’d say it was my fault. However much I agree, I want to hear them say that I’m not guilty. I want to ask everyone for forgiveness. I want to ask for forgiveness while I only need to forgive myself, really.

This dictionary defines guilt like this:

1.

the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law; culpability:He admitted his guilt.

2.

a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

3.

conduct involving the commission of such crimes, wrongs, etc.: to live a life of guilt.

Interestingly, they also define it as a feeling of responsibility, whether real or imagined. Guilt isn’t necessarily based on facts. It’s not black and white. There is an entire gray zone for every feeling, including this one. It’s very well possible that I blame myself way too much for what has happened. It’s very well possible that it is my fault. In the end though, I will never know, because there is no real answer to this question. No one has the right nor the ability to say how much of it was my fault and how much wasn’t my fault.
And yet I fear that people would judge me and think less of me. It would hurt immensely if someone who’s important to me would tell me that yes, I am guilty and no, (s)he doesn’t think I’m so “valuable” anymore. So far none of my friends has judged me, but who knows, maybe someone who knows me in another way would?
I do feel regret, and maybe that makes up for guilt, in a way. We want murderers to feel regret after all. I only harmed my own feelings, but maybe the thought of regret compensating guilt could make it better.
In order to feel comforted without telling you what happened, I would like you to judge this case, not regarding the consequences:
Imagine you know a man. He seems to be thinking of death a lot, you are talking to him about it and he seems to think it’s not bad, it could even be good. He lets you listen to a song about suicide. He hands you a gun, and when you load it, he turns to you so you could shoot him straight in the heart. However, during all this, he is high on morphine.
Would it be okay to kill him?
And if he weren’t high on morphine but living through a rough divorce, for example, would that make a difference?
(Luckily, I haven’t killed anyone, nor am I high on morphine. I just spent a while thinking about wrong and right and that’s when this all came up again.)
(It’s WordPress’s fault that the spaces don’t show. If anyone knows how to solve this, please tell me. It’s so annoying to read…)
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I just killed Eva Braun

It’s been a sunny, warm Monday in July, holiday, summer, and I have witnessed the Third Reich fall. I killed Hitler. I killed Eva Braun. I dropped bombs on the others. They fell from my hand, slipped through my fingers.

You see, exaggerating is also an art. Of course I killed no one, especially no people that have been dead for ages now. But I was reading a book about Eva Braun’s niece, and when I put it away, it felt like I had a choice. Will I let her live? Or will I let her die? I didn’t have to continue reading, I didn’t have to kill these people.

On the other hand I knew that the end is always inevitable. They would have to die anyway… So I read on. And watched it all happen. And felt a very weird kind of guilt.

You see, it kind of feels that I’m the one who does all this because I am reading on. I felt that quite clearly when I was reading Bring up the bodies, a book about Thomas Cromwell. I knew we were reaching the point were Anne Boleyn has to be executed. When I put the book down to do something else (which was hard, sometimes, though I knew what was about to happen), I suddenly felt the guilt creeping upon me.

You are killing here. But you have a choice. Will you let her live?

No… No, I want to read on.

But you will kill her. And there will be no turning back.

But… But…

No. You have to choose. Choose wisely.

Needless to say, I kept reading. Because ignoring the end doesn’t make it any different. The last page was waiting for me and the scaffold was waiting for her. I could only apologize to her, inside my imagination.

Is there some kind of word to describe this? The feeling you are killing the people who die in your book? And do you feel the same way?

A story of boy meets girl… and hurts her badly

After my last post,  the result of a challenge, I was encouraged by some bloggers to tell more, to tell what happened next. Well, the truth is that I have already told you quite much. As always though I haven’t been clear. It always takes ages for me to be completely clear about what happened…

But today, I will tell you The Entire Story. The story of boy meets girl. But not with a happy end.

As my posts are mostly vague on the events, I’ll explain it in short. I met a guy. He seemed nice. At the end of February he kissed me. We spent the night together, but as I am a clever girl, we didn’t do anything more than kissing. He told me, literally, that he wouldn’t break my trust, that he wouldn’t ignore me. And then, he ignored me.

This broke something in me for the following reasons: I’ve been hurt in similar ways before. When this happened, I was thinking I could not handle such a thing anymore. And than this happened.
I really trusted him. Very much. And then he broke my trust.
He promised me not to do that. I feel like I can never trust people anymore.
He made me feel like I was not good enough.
He made me feel like I had shown my weakness. I cannot stand that.
He made me feel, once again, that I might grow old alone.

Now that is a short, very theoretical approach. Let’s take a look at what I wrote before… And this time, I’ll put it in a logical, chronological order. (There is even a list, at the end.)

So, Caught tells the story of how it happened. How we met. How he kissed me. A few days after this event, I wrote Repeat after me. This poem describes above all the guilt I felt, the guilt for letting this happen once again. At that moment though, I was still not sure whether he would contact me or not. Though it was highly unlikely, I still had a little bit of hope, somewhere deep inside.

But that changed. And I started plotting revenge. O, like I plotted revenge! I lived on it. I lived on hate, to protect myself from ever letting myself be fooled again. I needed the anger to know that I would not tolerate it.

Later on, I kind of got over it. I started studying for the finals, found out that I hated that even more than him, and then stopped actively plotting revenge. I would still like to punch him in the face, very much, much more than I’d ever like to admit, but it’s not haunting my thoughts anymore.

So, if you want to read the story in an understandable order with more details, here you go:

1. Caught
2. Repeat after me
3. The Sweetest
4. Return to Peace

And with this being told, here’s one more reason for me to hate him: it still hurts me after more than three fucking months. And that for just one night of treachery. So I dearly hope that I can add another post one day, a post about my real revenge, a post in which I can finally tell you that I no longer care about it.

Until that glorious day I just make sure to be fabulous when I go outside, so that when we run into each other, at least he’ll see what he’s missing out on.
And I pray that it will hurt like hell.

REVEEEEEENGE

Update: so there is a fifth episode… The final one.

It won’t work today

It won’t work today. I won’t work today. For some reason, I lack the energy and above all the will to keep going. It’s only 11 am and I feel like I’m supposed to keep on working until 12 am. But see, it doesn’t work today. I feel like having too little time and too much to do. I have to study for my finals, but I also have three more deadlines to keep an eye on. And that’s too much for me to handle. Days are short, subjects are boring, and translating turns out not to make me happy. Instead I feel like I’m zombiefying. I get up at around half past 9 in the morning, start working an hour after that and don’t really stop, only to eat, until midnight. It’s the sixth day today and I’m broken and frustrated and angry and tired, so tired. At the same time I don’t see how I’ll ever manage to do all these things I’m supposed to do. If I fail an exam though, it will give me troubles.

So… A most uncomfortable situation. To top it off I suck at doing things when I don’t want to do them. Up until a certain level I will manage to get over my not wanting, but this, this is too much. Then my inner fiver-year-old shows up and starts screaming NO NO NO DON’T WANNAAAA! NO NO NO! This never fails to make me feel torn apart by guilt and stuborness. It’s sad, because so very often you have to do things against your will, but when I doo it too much, it affects me physically. I will have no hunger anymore, I will sleep bad, I will feel sick. I’m not there yet, but my body doesn’t agree on this system either. My elbows hurt from leaning on them, my neck hurts because I’m always looking down, my spine begs for movement and the best one: my jaws hurt from yawning. I kid you not.

I barely see people, I barely talk to them, I have nothing to say anyway. This is a dead period, with nothing but obligatory stuff and endless guilt because you’re not working. Even eating feels wrong sometimes. Mainly because I really don’t know how I’ll get everything over and done with it. It’s so much and it should all be so good… But how am I supposed to do that? What more can I do? I need my sleep, you know, I have to eat, I have to take a break every now and then… But how will I be able to finish it all then?

In short, I hate this. I hate this so much. I want it to be over but it will only end at the end of June. Hopefully I’ll survive. It wouldn’t surprise me if that weren’t the case though… *sigh*

To soothe a conscience

I know you’ve come to soothe your conscience. Just don’t blame me for making it itch. I only did what you did to me – and now you realize that I might be mad. Frustrated. Pissed of. Isn’t that late? You could have guessed before, that I wouldn’t swallow and nod. You said I was sweet. Maybe you didn’t see that sweetness has limits and ends – where you are now. Suddenly you seem to realize that. All of sudden it becomes clear… And only now.

I know you’ve come to soothe your conscience. In fact I didn’t even want to get along with this polite game we’re playing. I just wanted to ask where that came from now. After two months. Don’t even try to make me believe you still care about me that much. You just want to know whether I’m angry or not.

Well, I am. I am fiercely mad. It’s not just you, you know. It’s not just you and the fact that you ignored me. It’s all of you. All of you who ignored me after you made me believe I was different. I cannot stand that anymore. I cannot keep on taking it. I’m no longer swallowing and nodding. You know very well what you did, your actions are only for you to blame. Why would I accept that? You are terrible, all of you, for treating me like that. So yes, I’m angry. I have the right to be.

I know you’ve come to soothe your conscience. I hope it itches like crazy. You’re trying to make it calm down. But don’t expect me to help. Don’t expect anything from me anymore.

You’re the one to blame. Go whining somewhere else.