I’m not proud to admit that I’m a jealous person.
I’m jealous of just about everyone in my life in one way or another. Even the people I don’t get along with all that much, because they are usually the ones who are pregnant, rich or have the abs of Hilary Swank.
In fact I’m jealous than no one else seems jealous of anyone else.
When I actually have the opportunity to sit down and read through blogs I usually come away feeling all down on myself because so and so can sing, so and so has an amazing house, so and so just got a new car, so and so is pregnant, so and so just met Steve Carell at a party, so and so is an amazing photographer, so and so is an amazing writer, so and so has the fashion sense of Jackie O., so and so lives in New York, so and so is married to a man that leaves her love notes and cleans the house, so and so looks like a million bucks straight out of bed.
Does this happen to anyone else?
I know we all don’t share everything in our little corner of the internet. I don’t because frankly it’s none of your business and also because I’ve found that by only keeping a memory of the good, the memories of the bad are able to fade a lot faster.
I’ve kept a journal since I was 12. Until I ended up in the psych ward three years ago I wrote about everything in it. Good and bad. Which meant when I went back to read over my past the hurt came bubbling to the surface like a noxious gas. While writing at the time was theraputic, it was poisonous to my future self.
I now keep what I call a “bitch journal”. There are no dates, no proper punctuation, no breaks between entries. I keep it tucked away, deep and hidden and pull it out when the therapeutic need to write hits me. I never read what I wrote. I never will. No one ever will. It will be burned when it is full. But it allows me a release that is sweeter than any chemical or edible substance.
But this brings me back to the seething jealously I have for everyone else’s lives. I know you have problems, a whole mess of them that I wouldn’t really want even if it did come with that fabulous thing you wrote about last week. If any of you want to be me when you grow up, just know it comes with a matching set of baggage that you’ll be left to carry around by yourself.
Jealousy and my own (very numerous) insecurities are something I really need to get a grip on before the moosh gets any wiser. They are not traits I want to be passing on.