When the birth of a habit is the death of hope

Among my saddest moments are those when I realize that people who are dear to me have succumbed to negative habits, beyond redemption. I feel it as yet another victory of the dark unconscious over consciousness.

What is a habit? It's a tendency to react in a specific way to a specific set of circumstances - but that actively discards all other possible ways to react. In that sense, it's like an alien living inside our mind. When I get home from work, tired and tense, I will reach frantically for that first cigarette because I know that it will make me calmer. I'm possessed.

A habit starts as a behavioral trait that occurs only occasionally, and that can be debated consciously, both internally inside the subject himself, and between the subject and his peers. It makes me think of the famous movie line:

أنا عندى شعرة
ساعة تروح
و ساعة تيجى

But time plays an adverse role. One cannot debate a trait forever, because it's exactly the same argument being laid down every time. So after a while, it will be rude to comment on a friend's trait, and the subject himself will give up trying to change it, having become numb to its presence - and besides, a habit is always sweet to its host.

So as time advances, the habit becomes an essential part of the subject's character, frozen and unchanging. And that's what's so sad about it, because our only hope, as humans, is to be able to change to the better. Otherwise life becomes meaningless.

I have seen friends and loved ones acquire countless habits, however big or small. I've seen one become hooked on social gratification, playing the role of a godfather among his circle. I've seen many sacrifice human relations to workaholism and business success. I've seen myself become unable to accept criticism. I've seen another come through his social failures to embody the super-villains of superhero comics. These are all terrible wastes of time.