The Haunting Music of Guilt

Let’s catch up. I think recently I haven’t let myself be inspired, nor have I let myself feel understood through the work of others. I have been avoiding creative outlets like the plague. And I think that every time it somehow impacts my day-to-day life. There is this undying guilt in every decision I make, in every moment I live. I haven’t truly been able to enjoy myself or even be sad. At the back of my mind, someone is trying to scream, their voice all muffled up. My first concern is the panic. Is it panic? What scares me is that the scream is muffled. It’s almost like they are suffocating, they are suppressed. I would have felt a lot better if the yelling was loud and clear. I wonder what it’s about. They could be asking for help, attention, or maybe just trying to express utter happiness while they feel like they’re not allowed to. But hearing it, I feel like there’s this orchestra playing inside me—in an almost poetic way, the haunting music of guilt. I’m doing something wrong. What have I done wrong? Who have I hurt without my knowledge? Is it me? Is it everyone around me?

I haven’t let myself be still. Maybe it’s because everything is muffled in my head, or maybe it’s unclear because I refuse to sit still and listen. Am I being weird because I’ve avoided creativity, or am I avoiding creativity because I feel weird? Does this stem from not wanting to expand nor get into how I really think or feel? Maybe, to an extent, that is okay. Temporarily, I do think I deserve a break from myself. Create more than you consume. But what do I do when I don’t even let myself consume? Am I genuinely enthusiastic? Looking at everything my days have to offer with lit-up eyes—the beauty in nature, good company, fun side quests and whatnot. But at the same time, I often find myself consumed with cloudy thoughts all around me and within me.

I have been giving a bit of myself to many around me, yet some still miss out, and I am, in one way or another, told to carry the guilt for that. I feel hollow. How much more of myself is there to give till they feel content, till I feel content? I thought not much in me might be good because I’ll feel light as a feather, being able to float in the air, the closest feeling to flying; but not much in me has only led me to feel a whole lot heavier on “I don’t knows” and “I’m not sures” and I just feel weak. The more I give to others, the less I seem to have left for myself as a whole and separate individual. What did I think emptiness would give me? Freedom? Less vulnerability? Less disappointment? I’m not sure I want to know.

I wince as I realise I am being perceived. I internally flinch as I feel it happening. I don’t want to take up your space nor your opinion of me. It’s so fragile yet it weighs me down. It’s so fragile, I don’t want to carefully dance and balance around it on my tippy toes to make sure it does not break. I don’t know if I’ve put up an incredible act or if the other person is so unforgivably dense. I don’t even want to know if it’s true, if it’s as authentic of a portrait as I can get of me. I don’t like to make up portraits of myself in my mind either. I’m ever-changing. I can never see myself be contained or molded so strongly that I’ll break if I blink. I took years to know for sure who I am and the way I am for assurance and confidence. But now my confidence stems from the opposite.

I don’t want to be taken in by my emotions, and so I’m avoiding almost everything that makes me feel. That perhaps will do more harm than good. I could keep in mind that my feelings did not hurt me. I felt hurt because my heart beats, there are neurons that are connected from my brain to the rest of me. I am alive, and so I think and feel. That shouldn’t mean I try to stop the blood from pumping. Why does existing sometimes feel like I’m failing someone, even if it’s just me?

I am writing to maybe start the process of ending this temporary break from myself. I mean, simply writing this out makes me miss a huge part of myself.

If you feel like you’ve lost clarity, maybe just let yourself feel bored enough to try again and feel again. You can never really know for sure about yourself, but it helps to be in this process of being sure of your existence, influence and choices as they change, as you change.

Maybe writing this is a sign of my willingness to sit and listen to that muffled scream, if it’s still willing to try.