Sabotage: noun: any undermining of a cause verb: to injure or attack by sabotage
Self- sabotage: to do the above to oneself
50 shades of grey. If only life was so simple. Life seems to be a monochromatic spectrum so vast that I can fear I am mad, or can soar up to outrageous ecstasy. Both without the assistance of drugs or alcohol. I can be moody, dark, pensive; spiritual, philosophical, universally open; blessed, blissful and bursting with love. Sometimes all in one day, but mostly these phases of life come and go, don’t you find, usually before, alongside or after specific events.
When I was younger I would sit waiting at bus-stops, train stations, in snaking queues outside popular restaurants in London with other students. Did I have a clown’s face painted on me? No. Still people would often approach me and say ‘Smile. It might never happen.’ So annoying! And yes, invariably it was men who felt the need to cheer me up. Was I sad? Of course not. More likely I was daydreaming as I have always loved to, and was actually far away from my physical spot.
Do you find people have to approach you? They need to comment or communicate, whether you want them to or not. Bemused, I normally shrug off the comment with a half-hearted smile that stretches no further than the corners of my mouth. Some people are never moody… or so they say. They aren’t grumpy; they are happy all the time. But life, and anyone living it, is never so simple, understated or boring to elevate any human being into a superior state of perfect personality. No downs, and the ups would not whisk us within a few seconds out billions of miles into unknown galaxies. No, these people, rather, perceive they are always happy, and – perhaps – are not introspective enough to catch more subtle nuances in their daily shifts of emotion.
Recognising we are moody is a gift, isn’t it? We can warn others, isolate ourself, self-medicate with a good long run pounding hard pavement in bitter winds with frosty air biting out our badness. What then, of that other state/mood that can precede the scales of life shifting down? For me, self-sabotage isn’t an emotional state but something like an annoyingly faulty link in my DNA. It doesn’t come along in a monthly cycle. Someone else’s actions cannot induce it. Tiredness or failure; not guilty.
It lives inside me, woven into my fabric as subtly and intricately as the robin in my garden weaves a tuft of sheep’s hair into its lilliputian nest. It exists within. Having looked – everywhere – I can’t find any switch that is flicked before it reappears. Like an eighteenth century religious zealot I believe that everything always works out in life. Every day brings warmth through new offerings, insights, individual moments of perfection. But there it is. Lurking behind everything. Ready to advocate chaos and doom, and wanting to rip apart those little cupboards of life that I slowly build and fill with happiness. Others will fortune and adventure into their lives. I seem to create a roller-coaster; keep moving up, always falling back down. Like British Summer Time in October, it is upon you before you know it and you are left in the dark.
No one it seems wants to talk about this. Well, who would want to? So, where can we escape to from this brute? I am tired of him/her/them. Set 50 leeches upon my skin and get them to suck it out of my body and I will give you 50 pieces of gold.
(We must come back to talking about madness later)