Guilt

A very recent event has unveiled a root problem which I still face: Guilt.
Knowing that something’s out of our control, yet I still ought to be doing more to help a situation. Being thankful that God probably allowed the best outcome, in the best environment, with the best expertise and care, yet feeling obliged to worry, as if it’s expected that I have to behave in such a way.
Having come back from a week of holidays and watching the red (new) emails piling up, faster than I can handle. Trying to finish all my work under self-imposed deadlines (which are tighter than they need to be) while at the same time, taking on a new responsibility outside of work (arising from the situation which is out of our control).
Missing two emails which weren’t very important, yet feeling intensely guilty and ashamed that I could have not noticed them in the sea of red. Like I staked my self-worth in the office on my promptness, and it had ‘tarnished’ my self-image indefinitely. My logical side is screaming, “Get a hold of yourself!!! It’s not a big deal!” but right now the rest of me still feels like wallowing.
Explaining to people why I’ve had to dash off and cancel meetings. Leaving work earlier than I normally do (that’s still like an hour AFTER official working hours anyway) and feeling weird, like I haven’t done enough work.
Updating people who do know what’s happened this week, all at different times. After a while, I don’t even want to speak to anyone because I’m so tired of saying the same thing again and again. I’ve begun to understand why others would want as few people to know as possible. Not because they don’t want sympathy in itself, but because after a while it’s more fuss than they feel is necessary.
Cancelling my music lessons because I simply don’t feel like playing anymore. At least for this month. Because my absence from home could mean something. What if something happens when I’m not around? What if I’m not dutiful or watchful enough?
Today I felt as if I didn’t deserve to eat. Or at least, eat well. If others can’t, why should I? I didn’t do anything wrong, yet I feel I deserved punishment, to suffer together. There’s a part of me, since my youth, that has been very severe on myself and I don’t know exactly why it’s lingered in me for so long, rearing its ugly head in times of trials.
I’m not even writing this so that people can ask me what’s exactly happened. I’m not going to say anything. I’m not supposed to say anything. I don’t want pity. I just need to express my self-observations and let my friends know I’m not in the most sociable, or stable, of moods right now. Grr. Sob.