A feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck.
Desire to have a quality, possession, or other attribute belonging to (someone else): “he envied tall people”; “I envy Jane her happiness”.
Envy whispers in my ear and tells me that I’m not happy, that I am missing something.
I don’t normally have envy. I try and tell it to fuck off, it doesn’t belong here.
I don’t usually look at other people’s loving relationships and wish I had that. Mostly other people’s happiness makes ME happy-bouncy-hopeful. I never look at someone’s achievements and wish I had that either. I’m not built that way. I don’t look at another person’s fabulous life and wish I was living it, no matter how wonderful it seems.
Generally, I’m a pretty happy, self contained sort, and I have enough positivity and potential and involvement in my own life not to feel envy.
It’s not a nice feeling. In fact, it’s small and bitter and mean-feeling. It makes me feel like a small and bitter and mean person.
Envy is like an ugly little troll that scratches at my legs with filthy claws hissing, “Look… see?!! DO YOU SEE??!! YOU WILL NEVER HAVE THAT!!” And then it cackles (if this was a dream, the cackle would be super-scary, but since it’s not, it’s kind of impotently comical).
I want to kick the shit out of it and then stomp on its hideous warty head, but I know that even entertaining that thought gives the ugliness more power than it deserves. In fact, writing about it gives it more power than it deserves.
I’m trusting that it will be gone tomorrow.