Work Text:
I would never voice this, dear reader.
I do know, ultimately, why it seems like everything is my fault.
Because it is.
That’s it.
And I know that I need to take accountability. That I need to shield others from the consequences of my actions by facing them myself. I know that it is my fault because of the things I did. I know I need to face that and acknowledge that.
That does not stop me from wishing that, for once, someone would let me off the hook.
Because it gets tiresome, knowing that everything is my fault. And knowing I have to be the bigger person and take full accountability. Because ninety-nine percent of the time, I don’t even know what accountability looks like!
I hate it. I hate having to face down the humiliation and the guilt, oh, the guilt, and acknowledge that I was wrong. I hate having to look at old stories that I had always framed as a humorous tale or a tragedy only for me, and tear down that facade, look the truth in the eyes, and know that it was all my own doing.
I think I always knew that things were my fault. But I didn’t acknowledge it, pushed it away to the back of my mind, where it stayed and patiently gathered its evidence from all my life experiences, biding its time to strike when I was already oh-so-low, and make me feel the guilt.
I would pretend a lot when I was a god, reader. I would playact this cool guy with no strings attached, with no responsibilities, with no real compassion to speak of, even when he did, rarely, care for someone else.
I am not that guy. I don’t know if I ever was. Not like I was some pure soul underneath the mask. I was never a good person, and, as previously established, everything is still my fault because I was a scummy, wretched excuse of a guiding force.
What, did you think there was going to be more to that sentence? You think I’m going to explain that I did love and care about people, and that I was trying my best to right my wrongs, and so that means that, even if I’m not a good person, I was still good enough?
Well, no. I’m not going to say that, because it’s not true. People can be good while not loving others and people can be bad while loving others. I love easily, reader, but that does not make me good.
As for the rest… I am merely cleaning up my own messes for my own gain. So I can become a god again. And rest in that eternal glory, that golden glow, that means nothing and doesn’t help anyone. Truly, it was where I belonged, a cold god surrounded by cold metal and winds.
“Fair enough, Apollo, but there’s a flaw in your argument. What of Meg McCaffrey? She, too, is trying to right her wrongs. Is she selfish for doing so? Is she a bad person?” you may be thinking, reader.
Meg McCaffrey is a child who’d been led astray in her young years. She has been raised in violence and selfishness, and knows that whatever small crimes she may have committed, were her own fault.
But she is not at fault for that. She was abused, as much a victim as my own victims. I cannot, in my right mind, blame a child for things her abuser pushed her to do, and neither should you.
“But what about your own abuser, Z—”
I brought it on myself. Because everything is my fault, isn’t it?
And yet that will not stop me from wanting forgiveness, from wanting to abstain from accountability. And there is a part of me that will make excuses, just to release me from the guilt, but I know that I have to face it.
It just gets… hard. Carrying all the guilt. It is my own fault, of course, but that doesn’t make it not—to put it in plain terms—absolutely suck. It always hurts that something goes wrong or some terrifying villain is mad at me and the reaction is “What did Apollo do this time?”
It hurts, likely because it’s true.
And yes, reader, I am exaggerating. Many-a time, my companions will not think it is my fault, strangely, or if they do, they still forgive me. Particularly Meg. She still stays by me, and I cannot fathom why beyond the fact I am, technically, her servant.
But, I guess, the point of all this is…
I am at fault. For a lot of things. And I should have known better because I am a god.
But, feelings are rarely that simple. I cannot simply say, “I feel guilt for this, I take responsibility” and then it’s done. No, no. I do not know how to take accountability, but I guess it’s doing well enough, because I’m not dead by my own stupidity or my friends’ disgust for me.
I guess that’s because no one around me has ever tried to be forgiven for anything. No one has ever taken accountability. When someone wronged me, I was upset for a little while, but then I just let it go. Not out of some form of grace, but simply because my anger or depression would’ve changed nothing. Or, if it did, it would’ve only made things worse. I forgave everyone, because there was no point in doing anything else.
Or, if a mortal upset me, I would punish them in some divine power. Except when it was Commodus, but really I treated him more like a god, someone to please. Like, literally, not in a “I loved him” sort of way.
Now, I forgive most mortals, because if I (apparently) have hope, then they certainly do.
I’m getting off-topic again, aren’t I? Well, the point is, I wish I didn’t feel like all… this.
But I do. Because it’s my fault.
And that’s it.