It’s the bad day capping a bad week, and you know this late meeting with your boss means that you are being fired. You slip a small capsule into your mouth and four seconds later the capsule explodes, your head, brains, blood and other tissue decorates your boss and his office. Your boss’ eyes light up, and says brightly, “So he WAS sorry for what he did!” Shame is like that. For me shame is the most dangerous of all emotions, self-annihilating, the only way to express a rage against yourself, an anger that cannot be spoken, only acted out and upon, killing the messenger.
I feel so much shame right now. I’m quitting a job that had such promise. I almost obligated my firm to pay tens of thousands of dollars for something they didn’t need. Fortunately others stepped in. I tried to do good but in the process I did very bad. I can’t deal with the shame. No exploding capsules though. (My doctor is aware of this situation.)
I felt better when I shipped my laptop back to my boss. I didn’t know what I was feeling until then, and was able to link it was other times a depression this year. This depression are not like what I would call my garden variety depression. It’s all about shame. It is like walls of a prison in eternal night, painted with despair. There are basements and basements and sub-basements and sub-sub-basements. In this prison I manifest in a dark mood. Roaming these corridors I drip in shame. and every morning when I feel this way I use my journal to dig myself out of this terrible grave.
Shame is a vortex of destruction. Some of my shame is about my poverty and a life not lived to its fullest. Some of my shame is a stubborn refusal to see the light. My bottom line is that my shame is a mystery that is trying to kill me.