The truth: You’re pure evil. You’ve tried to ruin my life one too many times, so today, I’m saying NO MORE. It’s time we broke up – or rather, it’s time I dumped you and kicked your sorry behind to the curb.
You’re a good trickster, I’ll give you that. At first, you played it cool, like the guy who may be into you, but the second you get close, he pulls away or you pull away or, as is usually my case, you say something completely out of left field and you cause the guy to run….fast. Either way, he (read: YOU) keep me wanting more because of course you know I want what I can’t have. And you make me think you’ll eventually help me get it. So you latch on to me…or rather, I latch on to you like some pipsqueak mouse trying to gain admittance into an exclusive elite cheese club.
And this relationship is fine – even good – for awhile. You’re one of those emotions that comes easily to me, so why try to change, why try to dig deeper when I can put myself on autopilot with you and just cruise down the highway at full speed?
I’ve carried you with me my entire life – through every school year filled with those blonde and perky girls who always got the guy just by batting a pretty lash, through college when the girl got the internship at the cool magazine (damn, that girl was bubbly and perky too!) and even now in my writing career when I see someone’s byline on a story and go “Dammit, I sent that magazine the same idea TWO months ago!”
Now, I’m sorry, but this relationship just isn’t working for me anymore. I’ve realized you’re a user, and that’s all you’ll ever be. Taking and taking and just giving me back a version of myself with lower self-esteem and a bad case of the “I Wishes.”
But really, maybe it’s those blondes I should actually feel sorry for instead of you, you deep-seated, seething jealousy. It has to be hard to hear people say “Oh, you’re so beautiful” all the time. But these blondes take it like grown-ups, griting and smiling. Though it just must eat away at their soul. What a dreadful curse to be that sort of pretty. Maybe sometimes they just want to throw up their perfectly blemish-free skin and say, “I can’t take it anymore. If being beautiful comes with this price tag, I want a refund.” Gosh. What must it be like to constantly hear those heart-wrenching words; I suppose it must feel like a dagger going straight into your heart to know that someone thinks that highly of you.
Oh, wait, Jealousy, you did give me one useful thing: a good sense of sarcasm. Pretty people have it so easy, don’t they? But do they also have the sense of sarcasm that I do, dear Jealousy?
Who’s jealous now?