Guilt

A little after midnight, Leo and I were walking home from Pops' place when we were accosted by a homeless woman, asking for spare change. I was made redundant last year from a job helping the homeless, so my heart immediately went out to her.  My experiences have taught me that homeless people generally fall into two categories: good people who have suffered disastrously bad luck, and horrible people who have created their own situation and deserve nothing better. This lady certainly fell into the former. She was polite and sweet, and I felt awful as I rummaged in my wallet, knowing that I had no change to give her.

She thanked us anyway, and we started to walk again. My feet dragged. I couldn't leave this person out here with nothing while I was going home to my fridge and my cats and my bed. I could just as easily have been in her situation had it not been for meeting Leo. So I stopped.

"Can we invite her back to ours?" I asked Leo.

We both turned around and invited the lady to walk with us to our flat. She politely declined - she had somewhere to go but was having trouble getting there. Once again, she thanked us, and we wished her well as we went on our way again. I walked faster than before, my conscience clear. I had done the right thing.

Guilt is my constant watchman, my personal plague. I am convinced that whatever I say or do will hurt someone, and I cannot abide that thought. The slightest wrong-doing on my part causes sleepless nights and seemingly endless embarrassment. I apologise for every action, just in case. Leo tells me off for apologising too much and it makes me feel worse, knowing that I have offended him so.

It horrifies me to think of my family worrying over my state of mind. I sit in my flat,  unable to do anything with my life, afraid to go outside, draining the resources of others. My university degree is being wasted, along with all the investment I and my parents put into it. My talents gather cobwebs in corners, unused and all but forgotten. And poor Leo! He has to live with my doubts and fears along with all his own troubles. For all I want to help him, my fears of hurting him further prevent me from doing what I know I should.

Thus the cycle continues, the ouroboros of guilt feeding into itself. I have long since given up hope of freeing myself from its grip; there is no way out of it that I can see.