self-sabotage is a concept i’ve been struggling with. i fear because of my addictive personality that every attachment becomes a gasp for water, and every ending becomes a fatal stabbing wound. i feel in extremes but no matter how i try, i can’t numb the thoughts or numb the action. instead, perhaps, i begin to find comfort in the pain that resides in unspoken words and a lack of clarity. attachment has always been rose tinted glasses and borderline unhealthy dependencies. i choose to opt into relationships and situations with no clear end, maybe in a way to punish myself for allowing myself to dream of that type of happiness, or perhaps i am simply more in love with the concept of self-sabotage than i am any single person.
everyone talks about happiness as if it were linear, as if it were easily defined. happiness is a feeling, is it not? no one talks about how difficult it is to break bad habits, how difficult it is to break your own heart so no one has to do it for you, how difficult it is to stop self-sabotaging when you still struggle to see your own worth.
happiness is a butterfly because she is blind hope that lies that she is not feeble. she craves to escape in order to reach freedom, and her wings are thin as paper and flimsy like love. self-sabotage isn’t as easy to spot, it is subtle things. it is choosing to be selfish, choosing to mislead, choosing happiness. it is catching the butterfly and cutting off her wings then wondering why she won’t fly. it’s gruesome in a way not many other actions can emulate because it is self-inflicted. rose tints red, blood bleeds black, and the world weeps for you because clearly you won’t cry for yourself. that’s what self-sabotage means.