I would never call myself a jealous person…but I am. When I was a kid, I was jealous of the wealthy people at my school: their ski trips, houses in San Francisco, nice cars. I was jealous of the thin girls, the pretty girls, the smart girls, and the seemingly “happy girls”.
But my jealousy has “evolved” with my disorder. I’m not jealous of your clothes or your money, I’m jealous that you don’t have a mental illness. And let’s get this out of the way: jealousy is illogical, moronic, and unfounded 98% of the time. All humans are fucked up and most things are not as they seem. But that’s not what my irrational, dark, angry, “emotional” mind thinks. (In Dialectical Behavioral Therapy a.k.a. DBT, they call irrational thinking your “emotional” mind. The healthier thoughts are from your “wise” mind. And yes, they fight ALL the time and technically are both true. Don’t worry, more on that later.)
But just because something’s wrong, doesn’t mean we don’t do it. Just because I know someone has shit in their life, doesn’t mean I still can’t think I’d rather have their shit than mine, which is covered with a thick layer of bipolar II to boot. Your car broke down and that sucks; but when my car breaks down, I am too anxious to call the repairman if I’m alone. So, I have to call someone to come before I can even make the call, let alone get it fixed. What’s that? Ah yes, the sound of whining; a common companion to jealousy. It is also moronic, unfounded and childish. But it happens. So let’s continue…
At this point in my life, that’s what my jealousy is all about – why do I have to be the “sick” one? Most of the time, I look at people without a mental illness and I think: if only I didn’t have this voice in the back of my head, I could be like that person. I AM that person, I just can’t BE that person because of this illness. Without this illness, I am an extrovert at heart. When I was a child, I loved being loud, getting attention, and being around people. I wanted to either be an actress, comedian or journalist. But with this illness, I have become an introvert – even exhausted by personal exchanges. For example, if I have coffee with someone, that’s my talking/smiling/engagement quotient for the day. I have days where I literally cannot leave the house. If I can, I can’t go to CVS and buy personal products in public. And if I can get to CVS, I find myself having a full-blown panic attack with profuse sweating, overactive breathing, tunnel vision, and eye-contact avoidance – unless I end up turning around and asking my mom to go inside for me instead. But at that point, I’d rather have a broken down car.
When I’m feeling better, I feel the real me come alive, take ownership: the person that loves talking to her friends, helping people across the street, making eye contact and smiling, talking loudly, and being the center of attention. And I want to just be that person. I mean, I am that person but now I have to monitor how much I allow her to be out and about. I have to ask myself: am I actually having a hypomanic episode? Will this engagement burn me out into a depressive episode? And at that point, fuck jealousy, I’m just pissed that I have to even worry about this at all. (Cue whining violin…again.)
So go ahead and wear uncomfortable heels, show off those kick-ass legs, and brag to me about where you went to college, how amazing your job is, or how hot your boyfriend is. I’m not competitive, I had to let that go long ago. I just wish I could imagine a life where I could have those expectations, and not have my emotional mind laugh in my face and push me down again. And I suppose to rid this jealousy in the long term it will be about accepting my new expectations of myself and my lifestyle. At least that’s what my wise mind tells me.