I’ve never thought of myself as a jealous person.
When I was younger, for instance, if I saw some kid with a new toy or a shiny gadget of some kind, my response would be utter imperviousness. Who cares? Maybe he’ll let me play with it; that would be kewl.
This attitude didn’t waver so much throughout the years, either. If someone received a better test mark than me – meh. If someone won the lotto – good for them. If someone I knew found a magical toad stuffed inside of their closet’s draw – sweet, but whatever.
I was not a jealous person. If someone had something that I wanted, was better than me in something, or generally possessed commonly enviable characteristics, I wouldn’t feel jealousy. Not an ounce of it.
There was only one thing that might, in some people’s minds, count as jealousy. On occasion I would spend large amounts of time wishing that I were somebody else. But that was out of self-hatred rather than jealousy, purely because I couldn’t stand being in my own skin. But still, I’d never become jealous of people that weren’t me. I’d merely hope that I too would one day find a narrow beam of “happiness” somewhere in this desolate world.
Anyway, I’m still essentially the same person as I used to be in this regard. I still don’t feel jealousy for other people’s successes, or fortunes. I still don’t care if people find majestic unicorn like creatures prancing about in their backyards. However, there’s one area of my life where I can get extremely jealous. And I hate it.
I got into a real “relationship” for the first time when I was 17. Seventeen or sixteen… I can’t remember. That’s not important. What’s important is that that relationship brought to my eyes a side to myself that I’d never before seen. A dark side, not of depression, but of anger and rage – of jealousy.
And this part to me, I’m afraid to say, dwindles in my shadows.
About four months ago, my girlfriend got a text message. When she received it, I was lying in bed. She turned around to me and told me that the message was from her ex b/f.
Suddenly, a swell of… jealousy – anger and rage and bitterness and sorrow and pain, all mingling in the same pool – crashed inside of me, breaking on every one of my internal walls.
Calmly, I told her what I was feeling. I explained that this primordial like instinct was making my body into its bitch, and so, I said, If I sound funny, or seem distant, or cold, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.
Logically, I knew that the message didn’t bother me. I won’t get into the reasons why, cause that would make another post. But ultimately, I see no reason to be disturbed by such a thing. But emotionally… emotionally, gee whizz banana fizz. I lost all control. It was as if a scientist had plunged a needle into my arm and galvanised some tempestuous wave of chemical reactions.
And I just can’t fucking help it. And I hate it.
Fortunately, because I’ve reflected on these emotions for many years, many reflections over many years, I’m able to discuss them; I’m able to give them a logical form, and accordingly, able to deal with them with them rationally.
But still, I can’t help but wish that this side to my self would just fade into the black ether of my past, and drown in the shadows in which it festers.
One thing that I do find helpful though, something that allows me to deal with these unwelcome emotions with greater flexibility and perhaps even more compassion, is not resisting them when they manifest.
As illogical as it may ostensibly seem, and despite that I do wish that these whacky emotions would just leave me alone, the only way to deal with the elements of ourselves that we wish would rather not be, is to let them breathe, observe them, avoid judging them, and move onward, without the angst that added admonishment brings.
Do any of you fellas and felletes bear any weird emotions like this, which you wish would just fuck off? And how do you deal with them?
Humans-are-weird. And emotions are what make us so.