Sometimes the guilt I carry regarding my past is just too much. It’s one thing to regret my past, but the amount of guilt I carry is often debilitating — the cheating, the humiliation, the manipulation, and the pain I caused.
I still see a therapist regularly. I’ve told him about how I refuse to let go of my guilt, but he insists it’s not healthy.
Yes, I refuse to let go of my guilt. I hold onto my guilt because I am scared to death of becoming the person I used to be. And I would rather carry an anvil of guilt than release the guilt and become who I was. Because, honestly, not a day goes by when I don’t — at some point — feel like a completely horrible, worthless, and disgraceful human being.
I cry sometimes. I literally think about the terrible things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt, and it’s too much — and I just start to cry.
I never let anyone see me cry; only when I’m alone. But I do. I cry. Because knowing how much I hurt people is just too much.
Sometimes I wonder if the person who sexually assaulted me when I was 18 ever regrets what he did.
I don’t know. But I doubt it.
I hate who I was, and I genuinely don’t blame anyone who hates me as a result, because on many levels, I hate me too.
I’ve stopped taking antidepressants. At first, I said I stopped because it made me feel in a daze (which they did), but the truth is, I stopped taking them because I know I don’t deserve to be happy.
And as much as I try to change the world and fight against what I did and who I was, nothing will change the past — and that just makes me hate me even more.
William Shakespeare wrote, “The evil men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” I completely agree. Long after I’m dead and gone (be it sooner or later), I will be remembered for the evil I’ve done, not the good I tried to accomplish afterward.
I live in a prison of my own guilt, shame, and self-loathing — and it is a life sentence.