Jealousy is absolutely the most annoying, negative, obnoxious crap ever. Seriously.
I know because I have so. much. of. it. lately.
I'm unhappy. I'm restless. I can't make decisions. It all seems so easy for other people, and yet it's not for me. I can't understand why.
I've been on Weight Watchers forever. I'm still fat. I've been off birth control forever. I'm still not pregnant. I'm nice to people. They are still assholes to me. I wrote a book. I'm still not a real writer.
I'm paralyzed with fear about what's going to happen next...so much so that I am completely incapable of making any kind of meaningful decision. When Jason asked me what I wanted to eat the other night I seriously burst into tears, because I just couldn't. I couldn't make another decision. I couldn't be responsible for one more thing, even if that one thing was chicken or beef.
I know that sounds ridiculous. But that's what it is. I'm thirty-six years old and I cannot freaking get my life together.
I can't write anymore. Everything I write sucks. I have sat for hours staring at a blank screen. I can write words, but they aren't good words. They don't matter. They don't mean anything at all.
My mother-in-law recently made a comment about my husband's sister only giving her husband one biological child and it cut like a knife. A sharp, stabby painful knife. I couldn't even do that. What have I given my husband? Two miscarriages and so many tears they would fill up the Pacific Ocean. I failed, again. Not good enough, again. For the billionth time.
I find myself jealous of people I love, people I really care about. People that, if I'm actually being honest, I wouldn't really want to trade lives with. Life isn't perfect for anyone, even if they are pregnant or have a great job, or wrote a book that people actually still buy two years after it came out, and I know that.
I just wish I didn't want so many impossible things.
So many things feel so impossible.