I spent last weekend on a 28 hour (round-trip) road trip.
Like I said before, it gave me a lot of time to think – about a lot of things that needed to be thought about and it gave me some time to reflect on myself and the way I’ve felt towards others about their situations.
Namely A and K.
I had lunch with A on Friday and it was weird.
It wasn’t as much fun as it normally is. I found myself really ill at ease in her presence and irritated by our conversation.
When I finally made my way to see K on Saturday morning it was more of the same.
That’s not how it should have been.
She is my best friend – has been since the eighth grade.
We haven’t seen each other since I moved – I should have been more than ecstatic to see her and Little R.
Instead I felt cold, and withdrawn.
I feel terrible about it.
I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time – couldn’t figure out the ‘why.’
On my drive home Sunday it kind of hit me all of a sudden.
was am jealous.
I have nothing in my life that is worthy of complaining about.
I have a beautiful, happy and healthy son.
I am gainfully (self) employed.
I have a lot of things coming up that I’m really looking forward to..
Most of me? Most of me is perfectly content, happy and just flat out enjoying life.
But part of me is still jealous.
Jealous of the husbands and the weddings and the new houses and the new babies.
Jealous of the growth of their lives and their families.
Jealous that their happiness isn’t my own.
It’s sad, I know – but it’s true.
The reason I went to visit K was because a couple of days after N left for Afghanistan it hit her – almost suddenly.
She felt like she was in the middle of having a mental breakdown.
Her words, not mine.
She felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to spend more time with him before he left.
She felt more guilty because she’d been relieved when he left – they’d been really getting on each other’s nerves during their last week together.
She felt even guiltier because the little time they’d had together in that last week had been spent arguing and irritated with each other.
This visit wasn’t about her and I.
It was for her.
By the time I got to her house for our visit and girl time she was feeling better.
He wasn’t racking up outrageous ATM withdrawal and telephone fees anymore like he’d been doing while his plane was stuck in Germany.
They’d been able to talk every single day – sometimes twice a day.
She felt like things were starting to get settled.
Like there was a routine developed over the two weeks that they’d had to transition into life with him away.
She was better than she’d been when she had called me a week earlier so upset and feeling so alone.
I don’t know if it made her feel better to talk about me and my life – if it was a getaway from her own for just a little bit, but she always turned the conversation to me. We’d talk very little about her before she’d change the subject.
Maybe that’s what she needed – a break from the norm, or just to relive our college and high school days when we’d lay in bed all night talking and watching movies. It was a nice break.
Now I’m the one that feels guilty.
Like I monopolized our time together talking about my (almost non-existent) love life.
Even though it didn’t come up until late Saturday evening.
Sometime during our chat she added B to facebook and began texting him.
Honestly, it kind of put me into a panic.
Not that I think she’d say anything I wouldn’t want her to – I doubt there’s anything she could say that I wouldn’t say myself anyway.
It’s almost as if.. it made it a little more real? Which made things a little weird for me..
And then things got weird in general. (And then I got honest – about how I was feeling, and it’s funny how that changes things.)
I feel guilty for wanting what she has – when I am perfectly happy.
It makes sense to me, but it doesn’t.
You know what I mean?
Maybe it’s a little bit of envy over something they have that I feel was taken away from me?
But it doesn’t feel like it’s about that.
I don’t want her house, I don’t want her husband and I don’t want her life – but I want my own home, a partner that I feel just as passionately about as she does, I want love, and a future that doesn’t seem so foggy.
I felt guilty for feeling jealous.
All I can do is hope that it didn’t seem that way while I was there.
Hope that our visit wasn’t just therapeutic and good for me but for her also.
I don’t like this feeling – of being jealous.
It’s not me, not something I’m used to – and certainly not something I’d ever voice.
Hell, even when I’m feeling jealous in a relationship I prefer just to keep it to myself most days.
But last Sunday, on my drive home, it hit me – and I just let myself feel it.
I let myself feel sad and jealous.
I let myself cry.
Then I put on my game face and pushed it aside for a little while.