That is the right question to ask. People always ask “Why?” but the right question to ask is “How?” The feeling is torturous, so it doesn’t help to just stand there questioning yourself for minutes, days and weeks. One must quickly find a solution or risk losing something precious in the process.
But how do you find a solution when you are irrational? It’s not a stretch to say you’re semi-insane or semi-paranoid about everything. You are aware that you’re foolish, stupid, totally irritating, dumb, boring, depressing, dark, and a pain in the @ss, — but what can you do?
You only need the slightest hint or a barely visible detail to create huge ugly monsters. Your brain is smoking a mysterious magical drug that drives it to the amazing depths of ridiculousness.
Is it ridiculous?
Is it not based on something solid?
What if there is a tiny, fragile, nasty logic in it?
What if a part of your heart firmly believes in it?
What if you’ve already discovered the seeds of doomsday?
Is it ridiculous?
Questions go on and on, raping answers along the way. Answers die by the thousands, their blood and guts becoming a red smelly sea in your mind. Your mind is a wasteland. Eventually, you lose yourself and forget how you got there in the first place. You’ve built your own labyrinth and now you’re trapped in it with your mouth gaping open.
Sometimes, I’d like to think of the feeling as a human being’s natural equipment against factors in the environment that might compromise his dominance and power. I mean, in a group of animals, the male always has to guard his partner from other determined males that also want to propagate themselves.
It is definitely a sick way of looking at things. I’m revolted at it myself.
But aren’t all these thoughts, all these letters and words and paragraphs, just another bunch of proofs of the irrationality that that feeling brings?
Maybe people ought to just shut up when they’re jealous.