Jealousy. It’s on my brain right now because a close friend of mine is dealing with a very seemingly jealous man, and I’m stuck in the middle like a pickle in a peanut butter sandwich. Not sure how I got there, and I just know I don’t belong in the middle.
Jealousy is a hot topic for some people, I know.
I don’t understand jealousy. I mean, don’t get me wrong. There were a couple times in my life when I was extremely jealous to the point that I was a complete idiot and a jerk. But even having experienced it, I still don’t get it or understand it. Not fully, anyway.
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The first time I experienced jealousy was in a relationship many, many, many years ago when I was barely not a teenager anymore. The woman I was with used to confess every so often her “attempts” at unfaithfulness, looking for my forgiveness. On top of that, she often would tell me of the people she had crushes on, including people I was very close with. She was a habitual cheater, I knew that deep down, and yet I tried to control it by trying to control her.
Wow, the hatred I used to feel for any man that I’d see her smile at. I wanted to punch them all in their smug little throats. The thought of her cheating consumed me. I let myself drown in it. It strained and stained our relationship and made the problem even worse.
Whether my jealousy was warranted or not is one for psychologists to debate, I suppose. I only know that I hated feeling that way. I had never experienced jealousy before. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to feel it. I wanted to shake it off the same way I would shake off a disgusting and unexpected slimy booger from my finger. I wanted to just believe it would all work out, that she’d be faithful, and that I could trust her with anyone. That’s what I wanted.
What I had were fiery rages that surfaced out of nowhere which left me feeling worthless, angry, and bitter. What I had was a constant paranoia of every man around me. What I had was a constant painful fear in the pit of my stomach that she was going to come home that day and deliver the news that she had finally been successful in her unfaithfulness.
I hated it so much that I decided to do something about it. I ended up buying a book called “If This is Love, Why Do I Feel so Insecure?” I don’t remember what the book said. I only know that half way through, I kind of formally gave up my insecurities, and I gave up my jealousies, and I declared to myself, “if she cheats, she cheats. I’ll move on to better things and a more faithful person if she ever does.” And I meant it.