If They Can’t Outshine You, They’ll Fucking Bury You.

There’s a special breed of walking sewage out there. You’ve seen them. Hell, you’ve trusted them. These aren’t your garden-variety clout-chasers or fragile egomaniacs barking into podcast microphones. No, these are your coworkers, your mentors, your best fucking friend, your parents, maybe even the one fucking person you trusted with your life. The ones who were supposed to be your net. Your backup. Your ride-or-die.

But guess what?

They don’t want to see you win.

Scratch that, they don’t want to see you win without them. Unless they’re standing center stage, soaking up spotlight, praise, and credit like some narcissistic sponge, your progress is a threat. And when that spotlight shifts even one pixel in your direction? Suddenly, it’s sabotage season, motherfucker.

Let’s get one thing straight: some people only feel tall when they’re standing on your fucking spine. They’ll hype you up when you’re nothing, when you’re struggling, when your potential makes them feel important. But the second you start taking up space that they think belongs to them? The mask falls. And underneath it?

Rot, pure, insecure, venomous rot.

They start subtly discrediting you. “I taught them everything they know.” They withhold support. “They’re not ready yet.” They downplay your wins. “It was a team effort.” They reroute credit like they’re fucking air traffic control.

And they’ll do it with a straight face, while giving you a pat on the back. “Proud of you,” they’ll say. While digging the fucking knife deeper.

Here’s the kicker: it’s not always obvious. Because they’ll still smile, they’ll still show up. But everything fucking thing is a calculated attempt to keep you below them. To make sure your ceiling stays beneath their feet.

Why? Because they’re hollow. Without dominance, they’re nothing. Without someone to outshine, they’re invisible. And they’d rather torch the bridge than let you walk across it first.

Let’s call it what it is: insecurity in disguise. Pathological control-freakery. Ego addiction. Pick your fucking poison.

They think success is a pie, and your slice is a threat to theirs. And god forbid you bake your own pie; they’ll show up, shove their greasy hands in it, and claim they picked the fucking apples.

So what do you do with these people?

Simple. Burn the fucking ladder. Climb a different one. Build your own. And never, never lower your standards just to keep deadweight egos from imploding.

You don’t owe loyalty to people who only loved you as long as you stayed small. Let them choke on the altitude while you keep rising.

Because anyone who feels taller when you’re crawling isn’t a friend. They’re a fucking parasite.