If you prefer the English version, click on the following link 👉 HERE
El monstruo que se ríe de mí
A ver si logro explicarme... Es justo aquí. Debajo del esternón. Ahí es donde siento que se amarra el nudo. Y ni siquiera sé cómo describirlo bien, ¿sabes? A veces es un ardor, otras es como si te clavaran algo helado. Un puñal de hielo. Pero no un frío normal, qué va. Es... no sé, como si el frío tuviera vida y se te metiera por las venas. Algo así.
Y luego, la cabeza. ¡Puf! De repente, se enciende una especie de cine de terror. Pero no uno de esos con monstruos genéricos, no. Es uno que proyecta películas que no existen, pero que se sienten tan reales que te revuelven el estómago. El móvil de mi pareja que vibra cuando no debería... bueno, espera, seguro es una tontería, ¿verdad? Pero el pinchazo está ahí, duele igual. O esa risa en una fiesta, ¿demasiado cómplice, no te parece? Una mirada que se alarga un segundo más de la cuenta. Y ya está. Con eso basta para que todo se vaya al traste. Así de fácil arranca la paranoia. El bicho de los celos, ese que todos llevamos dentro aunque le pongamos nombres más elegantes para disimular.
IA Studio
Claro que he peleado contra él. Años. Antes lo veía como algo vergonzoso, algo que debía esconder a toda costa. Me machacaba pensando: "La culpa es tuya, eres un inseguro de mierda". Y bueno, siendo honesto, una parte de razón hay. Cuando la autoestima anda por los suelos y esa vocecita te taladra con que no eres suficiente... ahí es cuando se desata la tormenta perfecta. Es como echarle gasolina al fuego, me entiendes, ¿no?
En esos momentos, dios... ni siquiera veo a la persona que quiero viviendo su vida. Qué va. Lo que veo es un casting infinito para encontrar a mi reemplazo. Cada persona que se le acerca y a mí me parece atractiva, o inteligente, o con más labia... cada uno de ellos es un candidato. Y yo, ahí, plantado como un idiota. Como el jurado más imbécil del mundo, esperando el veredicto que me diga que ya no califico. Es una tortura que me cocino yo solito, un laberinto de espejos donde solo veo versiones mías cada vez más patéticas.
Pero... espera, ahora que lo pienso... ¿y si esto no es solo cosa mía? ¿Y si es algo más... primitivo? Como un eco de cuando vivíamos en cuevas. En esa época, tener pareja no era para subir fotos a Instagram, era una cuestión de supervivencia. Para el hombre, asegurarse de que los hijos eran suyos. Para la mujer, que no la dejaran tirada con la cría. Quizá ese nudo en el estómago no es solo mi inseguridad, sino una alarma biológica que lleva un millón de años gritando "¡cuida lo tuyo!". El problema es que ese guardián de las cavernas no entiende de redes sociales; solo sabe ladrar "¡PELIGRO!", porque su único trabajo siempre fue proteger el nido.
Aunque, la verdad, esa idea no me consuela del todo. Porque si fuera tan simple, ¿por qué a cada uno nos afecta de una forma? Y ahí es donde entra la cultura a enredarlo todo. Nos meten el guion desde pequeños: "Si no te cela, no te quiere". Nos enseñan a confundir el control con el cuidado y la posesión con la pasión. Si un hombre vigila a su novia, es "protector". Si lo hace una mujer, es una "loca histérica". La sociedad te entrega el libreto y nosotros, como buenos actores, lo seguimos sin chistar.
Y para rematar, llega el mundo digital. Un simple "me gusta". Un comentario. Seguir a alguien nuevo. Son migajas, lo sé, pero una mente ansiosa las convierte en el banquete de la traición. Te juro que me he encontrado a las 3 de la mañana, con el móvil en la mano, revisando la lista de "seguidos" de mi pareja como si fuera un agente del FBI. Un crimen que, muy probablemente, solo existe en mi cabeza. ¿Soy realmente yo quien hace eso, o es el resultado del entrenamiento que me han dado para desconfiar?
Hay una frase, creo que, de Shakespeare, que no se me va: "Los celos son un monstruo de ojos verdes que se ríe de la carne de la que se alimenta". Es brutal. No solo te come por dentro, se ríe mientras lo hace. Porque la lógica se va por el desagüe. Sabes perfectamente que estás exagerando, pero es que no puedes parar. Y la carne que devora es tu propia paz mental.
Ah, y esta otra que me dejó helado: "En los celos hay más ego herido que amor". ¡Zas! Directo al mentón. Cuando siento celos, ¿de verdad sufro por la idea de perderla, o por el pánico a quedar como un tonto? Porque si amar es desear la felicidad del otro, ¿dónde coño encajan los celos? Ellos solo quieren limitar y controlar.
Conozco un caso de cerca, unos amigos. Se querían a rabiar, pero él era... uff, insoportable. Si ella no contestaba una llamada al segundo, montaba un drama. Una salida con amigas era, para él, una orgía asegurada. Daba igual lo que ella le dijera o jurara. El monstruo ya vivía en su cabeza y se estaba comiendo la relación. Al final, ella se fue. No por otra persona, sino porque se estaba ahogando. Él no la perdió contra un rival; la perdió contra su propio fantasma.
Entonces, ¿qué hacemos? ¿Aceptamos esta imposición? ¿Luchamos? ¿Lo arrancamos como un tumor? Ni idea...
Yo creo, o quiero creer, que la clave no es matarlo. Es aprender a escucharlo. A veces, los celos son como el dolor físico: una señal de que algo no anda bien. Y no tiene por qué ser una infidelidad. Quizá es que falta comunicación, que hay un vacío. Que uno de los dos necesita sentirse más seguro y no sabe cómo pedirlo. Quizá son una invitación —a la fuerza, sí, pero una invitación— para tener esa charla incómoda que puede salvarlo todo. Para atreverse a decir: "Oye, ¿estamos bien? Porque yo, ahora mismo, no lo estoy".
Estoy en ello. Aprendiendo a no odiar tanto al bicho. Cuando aparece, en vez de vomitarle mi miedo a mi pareja, respiro hondo (o al menos lo intento) y me pregunto a mí mismo: "A ver, ¿qué te pasa de verdad? ¿Qué herida vieja te están tocando? ¿Esto es real o es el fantasma de siempre?".
No te voy a mentir, a veces el monstruo gana la partida. Pero el simple hecho de plantarle cara, de mirarlo a los ojos, ya le quita poder. Lo debilita.
Al final, los celos son un espejo de mierda, sí, pero un espejo al fin y al cabo. Te muestran tus peores miserias. Hablan de cuánto quieres a alguien, claro, pero hablan mucho más de tu pánico a la soledad, de tu necesidad de control. Quizás el viaje no es vencerlos, sino entender qué demonios te están diciendo sobre ti mismo.
Y bueno, para terminar, te dejo con la pregunta del millón: en tu vida, ¿tus celos han sido un guardián que te ha protegido o un carcelero que no te deja vivir en paz?
A ver si logro explicarme... Es justo aquí. Debajo del esternón. Ahí es donde siento que se amarra el nudo. Y ni siquiera sé cómo describirlo bien, ¿sabes? A veces es un ardor, otras es como si te clavaran algo helado. Un puñal de hielo. Pero no un frío normal, qué va. Es... no sé, como si el frío tuviera vida y se te metiera por las venas. Algo así.
Y luego, la cabeza. ¡Puf! De repente, se enciende una especie de cine de terror. Pero no uno de esos con monstruos genéricos, no. Es uno que proyecta películas que no existen, pero que se sienten tan reales que te revuelven el estómago. El móvil de mi pareja que vibra cuando no debería... bueno, espera, seguro es una tontería, ¿verdad? Pero el pinchazo está ahí, duele igual. O esa risa en una fiesta, ¿demasiado cómplice, no te parece? Una mirada que se alarga un segundo más de la cuenta. Y ya está. Con eso basta para que todo se vaya al traste. Así de fácil arranca la paranoia. El bicho de los celos, ese que todos llevamos dentro aunque le pongamos nombres más elegantes para disimular.
IA Studio
Claro que he peleado contra él. Años. Antes lo veía como algo vergonzoso, algo que debía esconder a toda costa. Me machacaba pensando: "La culpa es tuya, eres un inseguro de mierda". Y bueno, siendo honesto, una parte de razón hay. Cuando la autoestima anda por los suelos y esa vocecita te taladra con que no eres suficiente... ahí es cuando se desata la tormenta perfecta. Es como echarle gasolina al fuego, me entiendes, ¿no?
En esos momentos, dios... ni siquiera veo a la persona que quiero viviendo su vida. Qué va. Lo que veo es un casting infinito para encontrar a mi reemplazo. Cada persona que se le acerca y a mí me parece atractiva, o inteligente, o con más labia... cada uno de ellos es un candidato. Y yo, ahí, plantado como un idiota. Como el jurado más imbécil del mundo, esperando el veredicto que me diga que ya no califico. Es una tortura que me cocino yo solito, un laberinto de espejos donde solo veo versiones mías cada vez más patéticas.
Pero... espera, ahora que lo pienso... ¿y si esto no es solo cosa mía? ¿Y si es algo más... primitivo? Como un eco de cuando vivíamos en cuevas. En esa época, tener pareja no era para subir fotos a Instagram, era una cuestión de supervivencia. Para el hombre, asegurarse de que los hijos eran suyos. Para la mujer, que no la dejaran tirada con la cría. Quizá ese nudo en el estómago no es solo mi inseguridad, sino una alarma biológica que lleva un millón de años gritando "¡cuida lo tuyo!". El problema es que ese guardián de las cavernas no entiende de redes sociales; solo sabe ladrar "¡PELIGRO!", porque su único trabajo siempre fue proteger el nido.
Aunque, la verdad, esa idea no me consuela del todo. Porque si fuera tan simple, ¿por qué a cada uno nos afecta de una forma? Y ahí es donde entra la cultura a enredarlo todo. Nos meten el guion desde pequeños: "Si no te cela, no te quiere". Nos enseñan a confundir el control con el cuidado y la posesión con la pasión. Si un hombre vigila a su novia, es "protector". Si lo hace una mujer, es una "loca histérica". La sociedad te entrega el libreto y nosotros, como buenos actores, lo seguimos sin chistar.
Y para rematar, llega el mundo digital. Un simple "me gusta". Un comentario. Seguir a alguien nuevo. Son migajas, lo sé, pero una mente ansiosa las convierte en el banquete de la traición. Te juro que me he encontrado a las 3 de la mañana, con el móvil en la mano, revisando la lista de "seguidos" de mi pareja como si fuera un agente del FBI. Un crimen que, muy probablemente, solo existe en mi cabeza. ¿Soy realmente yo quien hace eso, o es el resultado del entrenamiento que me han dado para desconfiar?
Hay una frase, creo que, de Shakespeare, que no se me va: "Los celos son un monstruo de ojos verdes que se ríe de la carne de la que se alimenta". Es brutal. No solo te come por dentro, se ríe mientras lo hace. Porque la lógica se va por el desagüe. Sabes perfectamente que estás exagerando, pero es que no puedes parar. Y la carne que devora es tu propia paz mental.
Ah, y esta otra que me dejó helado: "En los celos hay más ego herido que amor". ¡Zas! Directo al mentón. Cuando siento celos, ¿de verdad sufro por la idea de perderla, o por el pánico a quedar como un tonto? Porque si amar es desear la felicidad del otro, ¿dónde coño encajan los celos? Ellos solo quieren limitar y controlar.
Conozco un caso de cerca, unos amigos. Se querían a rabiar, pero él era... uff, insoportable. Si ella no contestaba una llamada al segundo, montaba un drama. Una salida con amigas era, para él, una orgía asegurada. Daba igual lo que ella le dijera o jurara. El monstruo ya vivía en su cabeza y se estaba comiendo la relación. Al final, ella se fue. No por otra persona, sino porque se estaba ahogando. Él no la perdió contra un rival; la perdió contra su propio fantasma.
Entonces, ¿qué hacemos? ¿Aceptamos esta imposición? ¿Luchamos? ¿Lo arrancamos como un tumor? Ni idea...
Yo creo, o quiero creer, que la clave no es matarlo. Es aprender a escucharlo. A veces, los celos son como el dolor físico: una señal de que algo no anda bien. Y no tiene por qué ser una infidelidad. Quizá es que falta comunicación, que hay un vacío. Que uno de los dos necesita sentirse más seguro y no sabe cómo pedirlo. Quizá son una invitación —a la fuerza, sí, pero una invitación— para tener esa charla incómoda que puede salvarlo todo. Para atreverse a decir: "Oye, ¿estamos bien? Porque yo, ahora mismo, no lo estoy".
Estoy en ello. Aprendiendo a no odiar tanto al bicho. Cuando aparece, en vez de vomitarle mi miedo a mi pareja, respiro hondo (o al menos lo intento) y me pregunto a mí mismo: "A ver, ¿qué te pasa de verdad? ¿Qué herida vieja te están tocando? ¿Esto es real o es el fantasma de siempre?".
No te voy a mentir, a veces el monstruo gana la partida. Pero el simple hecho de plantarle cara, de mirarlo a los ojos, ya le quita poder. Lo debilita.
Al final, los celos son un espejo de mierda, sí, pero un espejo al fin y al cabo. Te muestran tus peores miserias. Hablan de cuánto quieres a alguien, claro, pero hablan mucho más de tu pánico a la soledad, de tu necesidad de control. Quizás el viaje no es vencerlos, sino entender qué demonios te están diciendo sobre ti mismo.
Y bueno, para terminar, te dejo con la pregunta del millón: en tu vida, ¿tus celos han sido un guardián que te ha protegido o un carcelero que no te deja vivir en paz?
Ven y participa en la Iniciativa de la amiga @iriswrite y su columna Las Cosas de iris. Anímate a participar @cirangela, @issymarie2 y @sacra97. En el siguiente enlace encontrarán la información necesaria.
Malditos celos. Iniciativa #8
Portada de la iniciativa.
Creciendo como persona, busca y encuentra lo que necesitas para ser un mejor humano en la Comunidad Holos&Lotus. De seguro, hay un tema que te llamará la atención.
Infografía propia de la Comunidad Holos&Lotus
A solicitud de la Colunnista, el banner de @miriannalis
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
The monster who laughs at me
Let's see if I can explain this... It's right here. Under my sternum. That's where I feel the knot tighten. And I don't even know how to describe it properly, you know? Sometimes it's a burning, other times it's like they're stabbing you with something frozen. A dagger of ice. But not a normal cold, no way. It's... I don't know, as if the cold had a life of its own and was creeping into your veins. Something like that.
And then, my head. Poof! Suddenly, a kind of horror movie starts playing. But not one of those with generic monsters, no. This one shows films that don't exist, but that feel so real they turn your stomach. My partner's phone vibrating when it shouldn't... well, wait, it's probably nothing, right? But the pang is there, it hurts just the same. Or that laugh at a party, a little too knowing, don't you think? A look that lasts a second too long. And that's it. That's all it takes for everything to go to hell. Paranoia starts just that easily. The jealousy bug, the one we all carry inside, even if we give it fancier names to disguise it.
AI Studio
Of course I've fought against it. For years. I used to see it as something shameful, something to be hidden at all costs. I'd beat myself up thinking, "It's your fault, you're a fucking insecure mess." And well, to be honest, there's some truth to that. When your self-esteem is in the gutter and that little voice is drilling into your head that you're not enough... that's when the perfect storm breaks loose. It's like throwing gasoline on the fire, you know what I mean?
In those moments, God... I don't even see the person I love living their life. No way. What I see is an endless casting call to find my replacement. Every person who gets close to them that I find attractive, or smart, or smoother... every one of them is a candidate. And me, just standing there like an idiot. Like the world's dumbest judge, waiting for the verdict that tells me I no longer qualify. It's a torture I cook up all by myself, a hall of mirrors where I only see more and more pathetic versions of myself.
But... wait, now that I think about it... what if this isn't just me? What if it's something more... primitive? Like an echo from when we lived in caves. Back then, having a partner wasn't for posting pictures on Instagram; it was a matter of survival. For the man, to ensure the children were his. For the woman, that she wouldn't be abandoned with the offspring. Maybe this knot in my stomach isn't just my insecurity, but a biological alarm that's been screaming "protect what's yours!" for a million years. The problem is that this caveman guardian doesn't understand social media; it only knows how to bark "DANGER!" because its only job was ever to protect the nest.
Although, to be honest, that idea doesn't completely comfort me. Because if it were that simple, why does it affect each of us differently? And that's where culture comes in to tangle everything up. They feed us the script from a young age: "If they're not jealous, they don't love you." They teach us to confuse control with care and possession with passion. If a man keeps tabs on his girlfriend, he's "protective." If a woman does it, she's a "crazy hysteric." Society hands you the script and we, like good actors, follow it without a word.
And to top it all off, along comes the digital world. A simple "like." A comment. Following someone new. They're just crumbs, I know, but an anxious mind turns them into a banquet of betrayal. I swear, I've found myself at 3 in the morning, phone in hand, checking my partner's "following" list as if I were an FBI agent. A crime that, most likely, only exists in my head. Is that really me doing that, or is it the result of the training I've been given to distrust?
There's a line, I think from Shakespeare, that I can't get out of my head: "O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on." It's brutal. Not only does it eat you from the inside, it laughs while it does it. Because logic goes down the drain. You know perfectly well you're exaggerating, but you just can't stop. And the meat it devours is your own peace of mind.
Oh, and this other one that chilled me to the bone: "In jealousy, there is more wounded ego than love." Boom! Right on the chin. When I feel jealous, am I really suffering at the thought of losing her, or at the panic of looking like a fool? Because if loving is wanting the other's happiness, where the fuck does jealousy fit in? It only wants to limit and control.
I know a case up close, some friends of mine. They were crazy about each other, but he was... ugh, unbearable. If she didn't answer a call on the second ring, he'd make a huge scene. A night out with her friends was, for him, a guaranteed orgy. It didn't matter what she told him or swore to him. The monster was already living in his head and was eating the relationship. In the end, she left. Not for someone else, but because she was suffocating. He didn't lose her to a rival; he lost her to his own ghost.
So, what do we do? Do we accept this shit? Do we fight it? Do we cut it out like a tumor? No idea...
I think, or I want to think, that the key isn't to kill it. It's to learn to listen to it. Sometimes, jealousy is like physical pain: a sign that something's not right. And it doesn't have to be infidelity. Maybe there's a lack of communication, maybe there's a void. That one of the two needs to feel more secure and doesn't know how to ask for it. Maybe it's an invitation—a forced one, yes, but an invitation—to have that uncomfortable conversation that could save everything. To dare to say: "Hey, are we okay? Because right now, I'm not."
I'm working on it. Learning not to hate the bug so much. When it shows up, instead of vomiting my fear all over my partner, I take a deep breath (or at least I try) and ask myself: "Okay, what's really wrong with you? What old wound is this touching? Is this real, or is it the same old ghost?"
I'm not going to lie to you, sometimes the monster wins the round. But the simple act of standing up to it, of looking it in the eye, already takes away its power. It weakens it.
In the end, jealousy is a shitty mirror, yes, but it's a mirror nonetheless. It shows you your worst miseries. They talk about how much you love someone, sure, but they talk a lot more about your panic of being alone, about your need for control. Maybe the journey isn't about conquering it, but about understanding what the hell it's telling you about yourself.
And well, to finish, I'll leave you with the million-dollar question: in your life, has your jealousy been a guardian that protected you, or a jailer that won't let you live in peace?
Come and participate in our friend @iriswrite's initiative and her column Las Cosas de iris. Take part in the event @cositav, @theshot2414 y @silher. You will find the necessary information in the following link.
Damn jealousy. Initiative #8
Cover of the initiative.
Growing as a person, search and find what you need to be a better human being in the Community Holos&Lotus. For sure, there is a theme that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographics Holos&Lotus
At the request of the Colunnista, the banner of @miriannalis
🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆
Dedicated to all those who, day by day, make the world a better place.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
The monster who laughs at me
Let's see if I can explain this... It's right here. Under my sternum. That's where I feel the knot tighten. And I don't even know how to describe it properly, you know? Sometimes it's a burning, other times it's like they're stabbing you with something frozen. A dagger of ice. But not a normal cold, no way. It's... I don't know, as if the cold had a life of its own and was creeping into your veins. Something like that.
And then, my head. Poof! Suddenly, a kind of horror movie starts playing. But not one of those with generic monsters, no. This one shows films that don't exist, but that feel so real they turn your stomach. My partner's phone vibrating when it shouldn't... well, wait, it's probably nothing, right? But the pang is there, it hurts just the same. Or that laugh at a party, a little too knowing, don't you think? A look that lasts a second too long. And that's it. That's all it takes for everything to go to hell. Paranoia starts just that easily. The jealousy bug, the one we all carry inside, even if we give it fancier names to disguise it.
AI Studio
Of course I've fought against it. For years. I used to see it as something shameful, something to be hidden at all costs. I'd beat myself up thinking, "It's your fault, you're a fucking insecure mess." And well, to be honest, there's some truth to that. When your self-esteem is in the gutter and that little voice is drilling into your head that you're not enough... that's when the perfect storm breaks loose. It's like throwing gasoline on the fire, you know what I mean?
In those moments, God... I don't even see the person I love living their life. No way. What I see is an endless casting call to find my replacement. Every person who gets close to them that I find attractive, or smart, or smoother... every one of them is a candidate. And me, just standing there like an idiot. Like the world's dumbest judge, waiting for the verdict that tells me I no longer qualify. It's a torture I cook up all by myself, a hall of mirrors where I only see more and more pathetic versions of myself.
But... wait, now that I think about it... what if this isn't just me? What if it's something more... primitive? Like an echo from when we lived in caves. Back then, having a partner wasn't for posting pictures on Instagram; it was a matter of survival. For the man, to ensure the children were his. For the woman, that she wouldn't be abandoned with the offspring. Maybe this knot in my stomach isn't just my insecurity, but a biological alarm that's been screaming "protect what's yours!" for a million years. The problem is that this caveman guardian doesn't understand social media; it only knows how to bark "DANGER!" because its only job was ever to protect the nest.
Although, to be honest, that idea doesn't completely comfort me. Because if it were that simple, why does it affect each of us differently? And that's where culture comes in to tangle everything up. They feed us the script from a young age: "If they're not jealous, they don't love you." They teach us to confuse control with care and possession with passion. If a man keeps tabs on his girlfriend, he's "protective." If a woman does it, she's a "crazy hysteric." Society hands you the script and we, like good actors, follow it without a word.
And to top it all off, along comes the digital world. A simple "like." A comment. Following someone new. They're just crumbs, I know, but an anxious mind turns them into a banquet of betrayal. I swear, I've found myself at 3 in the morning, phone in hand, checking my partner's "following" list as if I were an FBI agent. A crime that, most likely, only exists in my head. Is that really me doing that, or is it the result of the training I've been given to distrust?
There's a line, I think from Shakespeare, that I can't get out of my head: "O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on." It's brutal. Not only does it eat you from the inside, it laughs while it does it. Because logic goes down the drain. You know perfectly well you're exaggerating, but you just can't stop. And the meat it devours is your own peace of mind.
Oh, and this other one that chilled me to the bone: "In jealousy, there is more wounded ego than love." Boom! Right on the chin. When I feel jealous, am I really suffering at the thought of losing her, or at the panic of looking like a fool? Because if loving is wanting the other's happiness, where the fuck does jealousy fit in? It only wants to limit and control.
I know a case up close, some friends of mine. They were crazy about each other, but he was... ugh, unbearable. If she didn't answer a call on the second ring, he'd make a huge scene. A night out with her friends was, for him, a guaranteed orgy. It didn't matter what she told him or swore to him. The monster was already living in his head and was eating the relationship. In the end, she left. Not for someone else, but because she was suffocating. He didn't lose her to a rival; he lost her to his own ghost.
So, what do we do? Do we accept this shit? Do we fight it? Do we cut it out like a tumor? No idea...
I think, or I want to think, that the key isn't to kill it. It's to learn to listen to it. Sometimes, jealousy is like physical pain: a sign that something's not right. And it doesn't have to be infidelity. Maybe there's a lack of communication, maybe there's a void. That one of the two needs to feel more secure and doesn't know how to ask for it. Maybe it's an invitation—a forced one, yes, but an invitation—to have that uncomfortable conversation that could save everything. To dare to say: "Hey, are we okay? Because right now, I'm not."
I'm working on it. Learning not to hate the bug so much. When it shows up, instead of vomiting my fear all over my partner, I take a deep breath (or at least I try) and ask myself: "Okay, what's really wrong with you? What old wound is this touching? Is this real, or is it the same old ghost?"
I'm not going to lie to you, sometimes the monster wins the round. But the simple act of standing up to it, of looking it in the eye, already takes away its power. It weakens it.
In the end, jealousy is a shitty mirror, yes, but it's a mirror nonetheless. It shows you your worst miseries. They talk about how much you love someone, sure, but they talk a lot more about your panic of being alone, about your need for control. Maybe the journey isn't about conquering it, but about understanding what the hell it's telling you about yourself.
And well, to finish, I'll leave you with the million-dollar question: in your life, has your jealousy been a guardian that protected you, or a jailer that won't let you live in peace?
Let's see if I can explain this... It's right here. Under my sternum. That's where I feel the knot tighten. And I don't even know how to describe it properly, you know? Sometimes it's a burning, other times it's like they're stabbing you with something frozen. A dagger of ice. But not a normal cold, no way. It's... I don't know, as if the cold had a life of its own and was creeping into your veins. Something like that.
And then, my head. Poof! Suddenly, a kind of horror movie starts playing. But not one of those with generic monsters, no. This one shows films that don't exist, but that feel so real they turn your stomach. My partner's phone vibrating when it shouldn't... well, wait, it's probably nothing, right? But the pang is there, it hurts just the same. Or that laugh at a party, a little too knowing, don't you think? A look that lasts a second too long. And that's it. That's all it takes for everything to go to hell. Paranoia starts just that easily. The jealousy bug, the one we all carry inside, even if we give it fancier names to disguise it.
AI Studio
Of course I've fought against it. For years. I used to see it as something shameful, something to be hidden at all costs. I'd beat myself up thinking, "It's your fault, you're a fucking insecure mess." And well, to be honest, there's some truth to that. When your self-esteem is in the gutter and that little voice is drilling into your head that you're not enough... that's when the perfect storm breaks loose. It's like throwing gasoline on the fire, you know what I mean?
In those moments, God... I don't even see the person I love living their life. No way. What I see is an endless casting call to find my replacement. Every person who gets close to them that I find attractive, or smart, or smoother... every one of them is a candidate. And me, just standing there like an idiot. Like the world's dumbest judge, waiting for the verdict that tells me I no longer qualify. It's a torture I cook up all by myself, a hall of mirrors where I only see more and more pathetic versions of myself.
But... wait, now that I think about it... what if this isn't just me? What if it's something more... primitive? Like an echo from when we lived in caves. Back then, having a partner wasn't for posting pictures on Instagram; it was a matter of survival. For the man, to ensure the children were his. For the woman, that she wouldn't be abandoned with the offspring. Maybe this knot in my stomach isn't just my insecurity, but a biological alarm that's been screaming "protect what's yours!" for a million years. The problem is that this caveman guardian doesn't understand social media; it only knows how to bark "DANGER!" because its only job was ever to protect the nest.
Although, to be honest, that idea doesn't completely comfort me. Because if it were that simple, why does it affect each of us differently? And that's where culture comes in to tangle everything up. They feed us the script from a young age: "If they're not jealous, they don't love you." They teach us to confuse control with care and possession with passion. If a man keeps tabs on his girlfriend, he's "protective." If a woman does it, she's a "crazy hysteric." Society hands you the script and we, like good actors, follow it without a word.
And to top it all off, along comes the digital world. A simple "like." A comment. Following someone new. They're just crumbs, I know, but an anxious mind turns them into a banquet of betrayal. I swear, I've found myself at 3 in the morning, phone in hand, checking my partner's "following" list as if I were an FBI agent. A crime that, most likely, only exists in my head. Is that really me doing that, or is it the result of the training I've been given to distrust?
There's a line, I think from Shakespeare, that I can't get out of my head: "O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on." It's brutal. Not only does it eat you from the inside, it laughs while it does it. Because logic goes down the drain. You know perfectly well you're exaggerating, but you just can't stop. And the meat it devours is your own peace of mind.
Oh, and this other one that chilled me to the bone: "In jealousy, there is more wounded ego than love." Boom! Right on the chin. When I feel jealous, am I really suffering at the thought of losing her, or at the panic of looking like a fool? Because if loving is wanting the other's happiness, where the fuck does jealousy fit in? It only wants to limit and control.
I know a case up close, some friends of mine. They were crazy about each other, but he was... ugh, unbearable. If she didn't answer a call on the second ring, he'd make a huge scene. A night out with her friends was, for him, a guaranteed orgy. It didn't matter what she told him or swore to him. The monster was already living in his head and was eating the relationship. In the end, she left. Not for someone else, but because she was suffocating. He didn't lose her to a rival; he lost her to his own ghost.
So, what do we do? Do we accept this shit? Do we fight it? Do we cut it out like a tumor? No idea...
I think, or I want to think, that the key isn't to kill it. It's to learn to listen to it. Sometimes, jealousy is like physical pain: a sign that something's not right. And it doesn't have to be infidelity. Maybe there's a lack of communication, maybe there's a void. That one of the two needs to feel more secure and doesn't know how to ask for it. Maybe it's an invitation—a forced one, yes, but an invitation—to have that uncomfortable conversation that could save everything. To dare to say: "Hey, are we okay? Because right now, I'm not."
I'm working on it. Learning not to hate the bug so much. When it shows up, instead of vomiting my fear all over my partner, I take a deep breath (or at least I try) and ask myself: "Okay, what's really wrong with you? What old wound is this touching? Is this real, or is it the same old ghost?"
I'm not going to lie to you, sometimes the monster wins the round. But the simple act of standing up to it, of looking it in the eye, already takes away its power. It weakens it.
In the end, jealousy is a shitty mirror, yes, but it's a mirror nonetheless. It shows you your worst miseries. They talk about how much you love someone, sure, but they talk a lot more about your panic of being alone, about your need for control. Maybe the journey isn't about conquering it, but about understanding what the hell it's telling you about yourself.
And well, to finish, I'll leave you with the million-dollar question: in your life, has your jealousy been a guardian that protected you, or a jailer that won't let you live in peace?
Come and participate in our friend @iriswrite's initiative and her column Las Cosas de iris. Take part in the event @cositav, @theshot2414 y @silher. You will find the necessary information in the following link.
Damn jealousy. Initiative #8
Cover of the initiative.
Growing as a person, search and find what you need to be a better human being in the Community Holos&Lotus. For sure, there is a theme that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographics Holos&Lotus
At the request of the Colunnista, the banner of @miriannalis
Dedicated to all those who, day by day, make the world a better place.
Dedicated to all those who, day by day, make the world a better place.