I’m Sorry

As long as I can remember, I have carried guilt like a wet wool blanket draped around my shoulders. When my mental health started to become a problem, I always blamed myself. I blamed myself for the pain and stress that I caused my family and friends, and I blamed myself for the money spent on my treatment, on the extra time people needed to spend with me because I wasn’t allowed to be alone, and for my own struggles. I wasn’t good enough, I deserved this. I felt guilt if I hurt myself, guilt if I didn’t. I was guilty if I starved myself, but even more guilty if I ate. There was guilt in needing therapy but guilt in hiding. I still feel guilt every time someone waits for me to walk to class. I carry guilt every time someone stays up late to talk with me or hangs out on a weekend or works with me on a project. I carry guilt that my parents spend so much money to keep me healthy and send me to school. I carry guilt when the girl I love gets in a fight with a friend or feels sick or is tired or stressed. I carry guilt when I’m sick and I have to miss school. I carry this weight around my neck, like heavy metal chains begging me to drop to the floor before my spine snaps in two.

The worst part about the guilt is that it never goes away. All my life, I have never been in any sort of relationship where I didn’t feel guilty for just existing. I feel guilt because my sister has to grow up with an older brother with a scary mental health history. I feel guilt that my mom lost the daughter she thought she had. I feel guilt that my girlfriend is afraid to introduce me to her parents because they’ll think that means she’s gay. I feel guilt that my best friend has fewer friends than I do and he feels like I’m abandoning him. I’ve carried guilt for so long that it’s a part of me now- I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t apologize for every move I make. Guilt is the piece of me that I hate the most, but that has never gone away. I am entrenched in this losing battle of a heart-wrenching feeling of being to blame for every little thing, and I don’t know if I can ever escape.