The Distribution Of Guilt and How We Manage to Sleep At Night

Guilt… one of the most powerful feelings humans can feel. In some cases it topples pain, sadness, and even love…
It is the compass that will let you distinguish between right and wrong. Between what is and what shouldn't be.
A history I read kept crawling back to me and I couldn't but wonder what the world would be, hadn't we created avenues for guilt to be spread so thinly that no one actually feels it.
Robert E. Howard, famous for creating the character of Conan, committed suicide after his mother's health took a turn for worse and she entered a deep state of coma, with the prospect of never waking up again…
Robert was her sole caretaker and all the money he won with his histories would go to his mother's care. At the time of her decline, Robert was owed 800 dollars by his publishers, the equivalent of seventeen thousand dollars today. This money would go to his mother's care, and Robert, in a unique letter for his character, nearly begged for this amount to be paid in full. That letter was never answered, and, with no means of keeping the care she needed, Robert saw his mother enter a state of decline and therefore the coma.
Robert committed suicide shortly after, and, for what I know, this amount was never paid.
Now, one can argue that the publishers were not personally responsible for Robert's mother's death, and this is where I believe that guilt is spread too thinly for people to feel the weight of their actions and decisions.
A doctor that refuses a patient's care due to protocol, a police officer who decides that following a trail is not worth the paperwork, is following protocol.
And protocol… this is the bane of mankind.
Two officers were called into the apartment of Jeffrey Dahmer, famous American serial killer, due to a report of foul smells coming out of Dahmer’s apartment.
The officers entered the apartment and saw nothing wrong with it… Needless to say, it was later found that Dahmer had one of his victims in the room, and pieces of others dissolving in acid, mixed with a head in the fridge. Also, it is good to mention that the victim had already managed to escape Dahmer and was returned soon after, by police officers “just following protocol”...
These officers were not blamed and actually thrived in their work… no guilt, no blame. They were not directly involved in the murder. But, in my opinion, and it will rustle some feathers, they actually did. More directly even than most. Being police officers, their prime job should be to protect, to do the utmost to make citizens safe. And they didn't. It was too much trouble, too much paperwork? When it only required one of them to enter Dahmer’s room, and even that, they failed to do?
Again, when guilt is spread so thin it becomes invisible, people lose their lives, and no one is to blame, because they aren't involved…
It reminds me of a famous phrase, one that no longer has meaning because humanity made it so. It will be paraphrased, it will become a good logo on a shirt, but it will be nothing more than noise; “for evil to win, good people only have to do nothing.” And nothing we did, for centuries and centuries, nothing we did, because in truly accepting the weight of our actions, we will no longer be allowed to sleep at night.
In a world where children suffer constantly, where the elderly are locked away in “care institutions”, if not worse, where prisons are meant to remove from public sight, where social workers have the power of life and death over people, where police officers, doctors and the common man decided that “this is the way the world is, and it will never change”, the world and the future will be forever lost, because no one is to blame, but someone always pays.

Text by MV (MSTT)

A Short Essay On Sadness

 

Sadness...no feeling or word has more hate than this. We believe it to be a lack of happiness. We are sad because we are unhappy. But there is another side to it; what if we are sad, simply because we are? 
There's no easy way to put it or look at it. Unfortunately, sadness is like a painting or a landscape you only catch in the corner of your eyes; the moment you look at it, you try to understand it. Why, when, and how. 
Most of us try to get rid of it the moment we feel it and we invent distractions, goals, little mind games, to make it go away. Happiness is just around the corner...but sometimes, very rarely, it actually isn't. And what do you do? Do you give up? Or do you face it? 
I for myself decided to sit in front of it and look at it, like a staring contest. I've lost some rounds, I've won others. But, the game never ends. Sadness doesn't get up and leave permanently. It remains still. It doesn't flinch and it doesn't give up. It has all to gain and you have so much to lose.
 It's important to not confuse sadness with depression. Both can look the same, but they are certainly different. 
Sadness, much like happiness, joy and pleasure, are fleeting. They are spectrums with a range limit. You can be “extremely happy or extremely joyful”. But sadness, and her counterpart, depression, seem to have no limit. And to reach its limit is, in most cases, almost a losing bet.
 Think of it like an oil substance you cannot easily wash off from the skin, and even when you do, it still clings. Sounds like a silly thing to put it like that, but there's a reason for it; there's a very special kind of depression you cannot explain. One that requires no data, or refuses categorisation, analysing, and especially constructed words, to feel extremely destructive. 
It is at first a fleeting feeling. A thought. A few glimpses here and there and a good dose of dopamine to make it go away. But, like any addictive substance, it will, in time, require more and more of that dopamine. And that, in today's world, doesn't come easy. 
You get distractions, at best, neon lights and flashing signs, to make you forget. To numb you. But, like an uninvited guest, it will always arrive and in most cases, in the worst situations. 
Maybe in that peaceful moment with friends, when you are laughing without a care in the world and tomorrow seems like it's always going to be better. Maybe in the words of a loved one. “I love you”, such a beautiful thing to hear and say…and, like a gust of wind, it will slowly whisper in your heart: “what if? Isn't it better for it to end like this? How many ups and downs can you take? How many tears until the end? How many broken hearts, until it gives up?” 
 It is not defeat. It is not unhappiness. It simply is. And it will encompass you. It will evolve you. You will dress it, you will breathe it. And, soon enough, it becomes…you.
This, (I'll call it darkness from here on, because that's how I felt it and still do), darkness, is the most dangerous of feelings. I compare it to an eagle; always watching, ever patient. It does not tire and it does not give up. You can scare it for brief moments, days, months, even years. But, like I said, it does not tire, and it does not care for you. Or your loved ones, or your space. And, when the moment arrives, it will probably take another shape, to confuse you.
 I've lived with it for so many years I no longer recognise myself. Because that's what it can do. It can shape you into it. And every breathing moment is like an excruciating pain. And I do not want to embellish it, as it loves poetry. Because in the shadow of pretty words, it can hide. And it hides, make no mistake. It hides in the light and it cleverly uses shade to thrive. Like an illusionist's trick. A sleight of hands. And that sleight of hands says; I am okay. 
And you sit down and cry, in fear of being heard. Of being called weak. Or even “depressed”. Because those words lost their meaning. It's just an excuse to brush it aside. To try and comprehend it. And if all else fails, antidepressants will be the salvation. A cure for a symptom that it's hard to understand. 
How can someone understand another's pain? Even empathising with it is often, although unconsciously, a sigh of relief: “better him/her than me”.
 A few words back I said something that is hard to understand; that this darkness loves poetry. And it does, with a love one can only find in a mothers embrace, because poetry tends to embellish it, make it prettier and, in a sense, it helps silence the pain. And this kind of pain should not be silenced or embellished, because, ultimately, those who try to explain it in written words, often do not feel it necessary to seek help, either in friends, family or specialised help. And this darkness feeds on false hopes; “it is gone…”, while it takes another shape, another voice.
 As I write this, it clings to my heart and squeezes it, whispering; no one cares. Noone will read this, and you will not change anything. 
I feel sadness, for those who like me, felt or feel alone, in a crowd, trying to look for a face not there. I wanted to reach you. I wanted to let you know you are not alone. 
Things do not get better, but do not let this darkness trick you either; you are not alone. And you are enough. Look deep in its eyes, do not flinch, and say; I see you, and if I see you, I can fight you.

Text by Miguel Vieira (MSTT)

Photo by CanvaAI