Tag Archives: guilt


I don’t really ever expect to sleep well.

That’s probably not good. I mean, there’s most likely something true about wishful thinking. So I really shouldn’t say things like that. Or then again, maybe I’m too superstitious.

Either way, in saying that, it’s not really a surprise to me that I haven’t slept through the night this week. It hasn’t been bad at all though. Usually I wake up and turn off my mp3 player and then fall back asleep. No big deal. So really, I’ve been sleeping pretty well this week. The actual sleeping hasn’t been a problem.

The problem is the dreaming.

I used to dream a lot, or at least a good amount compared to others I would talk to. And I used to remember a lot of my dreams and analyze them endlessly. I liked that. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.

But I can’t really remember the dreams I’ve had in the past week. It’s more of the fact that I remember the feelings they invoke in me.

How weird does that sound?

I wake up feeling… fearful I think. Maybe a little disgusted. The kind of feeling that makes you shudder. It’s like my mind won’t completely wrap around the feeling, I just know I don’t like it. I also wake up feeling guilty. Like, really guilty. I don’t know why. The first dream had to do with my sister- like I had wronged her in some way and I felt horrible. The first night was the worst. The nights following haven’t been as bad but I’ll remember the feeling randomly later and kind of cringe. I don’t know what set these dreams off. I don’t know why I’m having them. I don’t normally have bad dreams. And these certainly aren’t nightmares by any stretch of the imagination– I mean, clearly, I can’t even remember them. But I don’t feel good when I think about them. I even got kind of anxious thinking about going to bed last night. I didn’t want to deal with another dream. And last night wasn’t fun because of that. I was just watching tv and guilt was consuming me. I couldn’t think of anything to do. I wanted to make something but I don’t have anything to make things with. I finally settled on my drawing pad and a pencil and I doodled designs for over an hour and that helped me calm down a little bit.

I just wish I wasn’t so sensitive to things sometimes. Dreams you can’t even remember shouldn’t effect you.

But I’ve never been prone to make sense.




I was trying to think of how to explain why I was 24 minutes late in turning in my paper. The prof I was trying to turn it in to is one of the most gracious people I know so he probably would have accepted any excuse. But I literally couldn’t write one.

Not that I didn’t have one.

But her words were in my head. Her words. “Results, not excuses.” Pounded into my brain a dozen times, directed at me when I wasn’t the only student in the room. When she called me out by name to say those words.

As if I did something wrong. As if I did something bad. Her unwillingness to hear me explain. Her unwillingness to believe that there could be anything valid for me not doing something perfectly. For me not understanding something.

As if I needed more guilt.

And tears filled my eyes and all I could think was: Shit. She got in my head.

So I said I was sorry for turning in the paper 24 minutes late. I said I would explain, but I’d been taught not to. And then I gave him the paper.

I have no idea why this hurts.