I've never been the subject of someone else's fear before. I've also never felt so much anger at those who care for me or so helplessly lonesome. Blame is a trinket that's easy to misplace. That was an easily learned hard lesson from that night, but digesting it now, really chewing on it the last few months has shown it's a many-layered jawbreaker that I can't help by gnash my teeth against. Who am I to put this crown of anger in my stomach on? The people who cared for me in such misguided ways, ultimately hurting more than helping by ripping apart the one thing I wanted most? Myself, for having a brain whose scaffolding collapsed? Or again myself for having cultivated a life where these situations could even happen? I'm playing a constant duck duck goose game of blame and anger and shame and guilt and it is driving me up the wall since it's just me at the end of the day holding with arthritic hands seams of my sanity together under this immense burden.

Forgiveness I can grant upon myself for falling apart. A medical condition. A diagnosis contained needly in a clinical abstract of my confinement. A treatable illness with specialized doctors ready to swoop in. Forgiveness I cannot allow myself to feel for becoming a monster to someone I cared so much about, even if I know I never wanted any of the Big Bad to happen. But when you know someone out there fears you, it sstarts to seep into your own bones and I'm beginning to fear myself as well. No matter my actions, my intentions, my being in and out of consciousness when all those damn great machinations decided to throw themselves into gear, was it not still just my presence, my being, my existence that caused anything to happen? How do you live with that guilt that someone else was caused so much pain, caused to be fearful? How can you process the loss, the anger, the loss over the people you are so angry at for acting like such idiots? I have no clue but every moment I feel more and more like a monster hiding under the bed, a creature of nightmares, than a girl and it terrifies me just as much. 

There's the selfish side where it's about me and these overwhelming feelings. But more than anything, it's the guilt and the shame to have hurt someone else. I don't want to be this creature but I am to at least one person. Doesn't matter anything else, in the end. Doesn't matter if I had a hand, doesn't matter if I tried, doesn't mattter that I hate it all so much it makes me want to vomit. It happened. That's all. Worse than anything I can feel about myself is this burden knowing harm was caused on my behalf to someone who didn't deserve it. I deserve no solace for righting the wrongs that never should have happened. All I get is this cold emptiness of knowing I made someone scared. I suppose that's the punishment and it's only just.