This always happened. Something good came along, and I’d find a way to ruin it. If I had a therapist, they’d probably call it self-sabotage. I couldn’t help it. People liked the shiny, bubbly version of me, but if they saw what a mess I was on the inside, they’d leave. It was easier to keep them at arm’s length and to push them away first than to suffer the devastation of them abandoning me.
