Guilt – The Weight That Never Leaves

Guilt is a strange thing. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t push you down all at once. Instead, it lingers—like a shadow, like a whisper at the back of your mind.

It makes a home inside you, slow and quiet, until one day, you realize you’ve been carrying it for years.

The Announcement I Never Wanted to Make

I sat in my office, staring at my employees. The people who had trusted me, who had stayed with me even when the business was on the edge of collapse.

And now, I had to tell them it was over.

The company I had built with two partners was falling apart, not because of failure, but because of betrayal. When things got tough, they vanished, leaving me behind to hold everything together. I tried. God knows I tried. I fought for every single penny, trying to keep operations running, trying to pay salaries, trying to survive.

But I was out of options.

That morning, I lit one cigarette after another, my hands trembling as I rehearsed the words in my head.

“I’m sorry. We have to shut down.”

The words felt too small for the damage they carried.

I expected anger. I expected disappointment. Maybe even begging.

But when I finally said it, nobody reacted.

They just looked at me. Some nodded. Some sighed. And then, instead of blaming me, they did something I never expected.

They comforted me.

One of them said, “We knew this was coming. It’s okay.”

Another patted my shoulder, giving me a look that held no resentment—only understanding.

That broke me more than anything else could.

The Taste of Guilt

I went back to my small studio apartment that night, locked the door, and sat on the floor. I played a random movie on my laptop, just for the noise.

I had no cigarettes left.

For the first time in years, I had no money to buy even a single one.

I should have been worrying about how to rebuild my life, but all I could think about was how I had let everyone down.

I felt my chest tighten, my heart racing as if trying to break free. My hands were cold, my body frozen. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and sharp, like I was gasping for air.

Something was wrong.

I tried to reach for my phone on the bed, but my arms wouldn’t move. It felt like my body wasn’t mine anymore, like I was trapped inside it, screaming but unheard.

I don’t know how long I sat there, fighting for control, until I finally managed to grab the phone and call a friend.

He arrived in 15 minutes. The longest 15 minutes of my life.

He took one look at me and rushed me to the hospital.

The Doctor’s Warning
The doctor didn’t even need to examine me for long. His first question was, “Do you smoke?”

I nodded.

“How many a day?”

“Thirty.”

“How many today?”

“None.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t have money.”

He sighed and said, “Sushanth, if you want to live a few more years, quit smoking now.”

I didn’t say anything.

He suggested admitting me to the hospital for treatment. I wanted to, but how could I? I had nothing left—not money, not a business, not even self-respect.

So, I called my maternal aunt, who was a doctor herself. She spoke to him, listened carefully, and then simply said, “Come home.”

I left the hospital that night with my friend. As soon as we stepped out, there was a small pan shop across the road. The familiar smell of cigarettes filled the air.

My friend smiled and said, “Tea?”

I nodded.

Then, jokingly, he asked, “Want a cigarette?”

Without thinking, I said yes.

I lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled.

And in that moment, I felt the worst kind of guilt.

Not because of my health. Not because of the doctor’s warning.

But because I had just watched my life fall apart. I had lost everything. And instead of fixing it, instead of making a change, I was standing there with a cigarette in my hand—like nothing had happened.

I had never felt more ashamed.

Guilt is Not Enough
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything.

The employees who had trusted me. The people who had supported me. The family who still welcomed me home despite everything.

And me—wasting my second chance on another cigarette.

Guilt is heavy, but it is also useless. It makes you feel terrible, but it doesn’t change anything.

I knew something had to change.

I just didn’t know how.

Not yet.

Guilt, I realized, is not meant to be carried forever. It’s meant to be confronted, understood, and eventually released. I was choosing freedom.
It wasn’t the end of my struggle, but it was the first step in a long journey. And as I stood there, heart pounding I knew one thing:
The Onward Quest had begun.