Jealousy is a bitch – can’t I just be normal?!

The darkness of jealousy closes in on me daily.

Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?

Just this morning, while in the kitchen with a few co-workers, they joked about wanting some Bailey’s for their coffees, rather than regular cream. At least, I think they were joking. Alcohol in the techy workplace is a common theme these days. I just smiled at them thinking, “Those assholes don’t know how good they have it.” Realistically, I wouldn’t last another day if I’d actually had some Bailey’s in my coffee. I would have achieved a glowing morning buzz and sustained it throughout the rest of the day until I needed a nap. It’s a damn shame to waste a perfectly good buzz.

I saw a friend post on Facebook about what a great time she had at dinner last night. Her accompanying friend commented with, “Good friends. Good dinner. Good wine.” I instantly felt nauseous with jealousy. Why does that chick have to focus on the wine? I’m sure they all got toasty, which elevated their good time into an illusion of an even better time of togetherness and warm fuzziness. It pisses me off that I feel so secluded from these types of events and connections.

I’d bet money on the fact that I’ll overhear someone in the office saying they’re going out for a drink after work. “A drink” is an alcoholic drink. I try to switch it in my head to mean any kind of drink, but I know I’m bullshitting myself. “I’d like to go, please. Can I please watch you get loose and glassy-eyed while I drink 10 Diet Cokes?” Alcohol is always in my face.

It’s not even noon yet.

Sometimes I look at my husband in the evening who’s drinking a glass of wine on the couch and I feel this awful, dark, piercing moment of resentment toward him. I hate that feeling. Most of the time he just has one glass or one beer. That is when I’m a little less jealous and more blown away – why the hell would you ever want just one? What’s the friggin point? Why waste calories on that? This is when I realize how differently we are wired. Sometimes he’ll get a nice buzz out of the deal and the inner battle within me really heats up. Sometimes I’m fine to pour him a glass at dinner, while at other times I’m completely blown away and offended that he asks me to. I’m up, then I’m down. I’m black, then I’m white. I get bitchy about it every once in a while, but he’s usually oblivious to these feelings I tend to have . I don’t want to bother him or change him or admit that it’s really that hard for me because I started this and I hate being perceived as weak. I’m the one with the problem. I have to adapt to the world. I am better for it. It’s tough, though. I can do it, it’s just an obscene amount of hard work on a daily basis that tires me out and sometimes makes me want to head for the hills.

In reality, I know I have come a long way and could have never imagined a life this good for myself. And I know I have a choice with every tormenting inner battle throughout the day. I can stay bitter, or I can take my mind through the process of reminding myself of how far I’ve come, how much better my life is and that I decided to live this way. I choose the latter, but damn, it’s exhausting. Practice makes perfect, right? Eventually, it should get a little easier.

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