Guilt and Nightmares

I woke up from a nightmare. In my nightmare, I was with a small group of people. I was shy and quiet. These people were connected to me somehow. I don't know how or why. They seemed liked normal people, and then they decided to kill a woman. I was assigned with providing a weapon to knock the woman out. So I showed up on the assigned night and gave the people a bar to use. Then after they used that bar to knock the woman unconscious, I took it back and left. I set off the alarm to the building by leaving, so the people only had time to kill her and hide her body.

Then in my nightmare, I was in another group of people, and one of them was in love with that deceased woman. They were all wondering where the woman had gone. No one had found her body yet, and they assumed she had run away. They didn't know yet that she had been murdered. I sat there quietly thinking of my guilt, lamenting the loss of the woman’s life, regretting the role I played, and contemplating the pain I would inflict on Jeff and my kids when I turned myself in.

I woke as I was walking to the police station to confess my involvement.

I awoke feeling sick to my stomach and just all around terrible.

I lay in bed awake wondering where this nightmare came from, and I came to the conclusion that it was an expression of the guilt I feel for all of the people I can’t help and how sometimes I feel like I am part of the problem. Jeff and I have savings. Why do I save money instead of feeding homeless people or setting up apartments for repatriated refugees or adopting children who need homes? The list of all the things I don't do is seemingly endless, and I tell myself I shouldn’t feel guilty about them. It is enough to help who I can when I can, and I am not physically capable of helping everyone all the time. But sometimes? Sometimes I tell myself that

I’m part of the problem.

My family, parents, friends and I got to visit some of the nearby pyramids. It was an amazing archeological site, and I would love to learn more about it. Amidst my admiration for the accomplishment of those ancient people, I cried three times. The historical location was populated by almost as many vendors as tourists.

Repeatedly during our visit, my heart fell to my feet, and my eyes filled with tears, because I felt so guilty about not being able to buy things from everyone. 

And I tell myself: none of them are starving, but then I respond maybe starvation looks different when your body has been fed some of the time. 

And I tell myself: so many people wouldn’t choose this job as vendors if it weren’t profitable. They would go find a different job, but then I respond what if there are no other jobs or what if it usually is profitable but it isn’t currently due to covid reducing tourism. 

How arrogant of me to have said: "It is nice to be here when there are no crowds!" What does it really mean to have no crowds? Having no crowds means less money for everyone whose livelihood depends on the tourism. Having no crowds means I’m alive during a pandemic—not poor and well fed—while thousands of people have died or have lost their jobs.

So I buy from this person and that person and those people over there. But then I run out of cash, and I like having savings, so I don’t want to use my credit card, and I honestly don’t want my house full of that many knick knacks, so I don’t buy from everyone, and wouldn’t people want me to buy from them because I like their wares and not because I pity them? But maybe not wanting to be pitied is a comfort only the comfortable feel. Maybe a hungry person who has five kids at home who have basically learned nothing all year because their school is from books and TV instead of teachers and the parents are gone from the home working all day, maybe a person like that would sell his pride to make a sale to bring home money to his family.

And then I’m left trying to hide my tears as I walk through a dusty thoroughfare trying to politely tell people I can't purchase their items and to calmly convince my children that they aren’t as hungry and thirsty as they think they are and that this actually is a wonderful trip.

Like in my nightmare, I have never murdered anyone. But does my lack of assistance provide a "weapon"? Does it contribute to death and suffering? Does my "liking" a post or reading an article simply "sound an alarm" after the damage has already been done? 

Too little. Too late. Is that all I do?

I guess my feelings have to go somewhere, so they turn into a nightmare.

And I probably need counseling, because the amount of guilt I carry for being "wealthy" and "healthy" and "white" is probably destructive. 

But who has time for counseling when you're technically under stay-at-home orders and you're busying translating school for your four children?

I feel better after writing.

So thank you for listening.

And I promise I'm not miserable all the time. But when I am, my feelings run around in circles until I stop them by turning thoughts into script. Thank you, blog, for collecting them.

Photo credit: Image by Chepe Nicoli from Pixabay. This is what Teotihuacán usually looks like.

Three of my kids in Teotihuacán earlier this month. The archeological site opened again last month, but we are prohibited from climbing it do to covid restrictions. It really is amazing, and the history is fascinating.

Help me put my guilt somewhere. Will I ever believe that it is okay that I can't do everything?