Enkidu

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Get a bucket, say one that holds 5 liters of fluid. Fill it halfway then lift it. It's not much, right?

  Hold it where it is, as high as you've lifted it.

  As the clock ticks, it gets heavier despite having the same volume.

  That is how I handle guilt.

  Wrong done, regardless of intent, demands punishment. It matters little if the hand holding the rod is no longer my parents', I will wield a whip and swing it towards my exposed back.

  I did wrong, and so I must be punished.

  All I ever did was wrong, so all I deserve is punishment.

  As I was taught with each punitive act and word, so do I burden myself with guilt.

  It matters little if the wrong was accidental or small or easily forgotten by the offended party, all that matters is that I did wrong and that I must be punished.

  It does not have to be a whip in my hand. Chains inside my mind bind just as strongly. At times, I wonder if the whip would at least grant catharsis compared to the endless encirclement imposed by my mind's conditioning.

  Perhaps I just need to cry, to find it in me to forgive myself for the wrongs I've done.

  Or mayhap the whip is lacking whereas a noose will suffice? Yet, doing so denies me the chance to make things right. And a chance is all that I'll ever get. That's if I choose to seize that chance.

  I owe it to the people I've hurt, with or without intent, to make their pain worthwhile. I owe it to them to ensure I don't hurt others as I've hurt them.

  I owe it to the people who've stood by me despite the pain I gave. I owe them more than due effort so I don't hurt them again.

  Punishment is my due, for deliverance that I will earn.