Dating An Overly Jealous Person (Read & Degest)
In a world full of lying, cheating, scandalous individuals, a little insecurity is to be expected when dating. I completely understand why you’d be curious who that touchy feely girl was, and I’d hope that you’d be empathetic if the tables were turned. There is however a line that must be drawn, and avoided crossing over. It’s located somewhere in-between “I don’t like you going to places where a bunch of other girls will be if I’m not there.” and “I don’t like you going to your family’s house, you have way too many female siblings and cousins.” Sure that was a slight exaggeration — and that was a massive understatement — but there are particular trust issues that can surpass the acceptable norm and become overkill.
On numerous occasions I experienced over-suspicion rear its ugly head. One day, while shooting baskets on an outdoor basketball court I was approached by a young girl. Mind you, I was about seventeen and the girl; sporting a Dora the Explorer backpack was no older than ten. She was a chatty one, rambling on about her passion for cartoons and fruit snacks. I listened on as I continued shooting, throwing in an “Oh, really?” or “Wooow…” every few sentences. It was unclear if this young lady was waiting around to be picked up or just the child of some careless parents, and to this day I don’t know. We never made it that far in the conversation because what followed was one of the most horrifying interruptions I’ve ever experienced.
In my peripheral vision I spotted a fast moving red mass headed directly towards me. In that split second I considered that the Chicago Bull mascot or Clifford the Dog was about to blindside me. When I turned I discovered something far worse. Far more metallic and bone-crushing. A car. Not on the road. It was on the playground’s field. Then, after a few more seconds it was literally on the basketball court. As I processed what I was seeing, I recognized the headlights. The faded hood. The driver. It was my girlfriend at the time. We made eye contact. It looked like she was considering enduring the maximum penalty for running over a dude in broad daylight. She must’ve though better of it because the car came to a screeching halt, leaving skid marks on the concrete court.
In one fluid motion the car stopped, her door opened and she hopped out – stomping angrily toward me in perfect stride. I recall imagining each step was strong enough to leave a cartoony crack in the ground. I turned to look at the little girl, she looked at me – we were both wide-eyed and well aware of the impending tornado. Aside from the stomps, all was silent. Then, a chest bump. Yes, a chest bump from my girlfriend, to me. I wasn’t moved by her efforts, but I made a hasty choice to relocate a few steps away.
Angrily, she yelled “Who the hell is she?!” pointing to this poor little girl. I hadn’t caught her name. Mainly because she was a longwinded preteen, but I didn’t say that. Very cavalier, I replied, “Some little girl.” What followed was a barrage of swear words and insults, including the insinuation that this young, young girl was promiscuous. That’s where I drew the line. “You’re seriously crazy,” was my cavalier retort. At that point, I learned a valuable life lesson. Never, ever remind a crazy person that they’re crazy. Because then they’ll go to extreme measures to enlighten you as to just how insane they are.
She swung. I ducked. She swung some more. I dodged what I could, but on this day she would not be denied. In Mike Tyson-esque fashion she landed body blows that the most battle-tested abs would feel the pain of. Was I, a seventeen year old young adult, really being assaulted by a flurry of punches from my five-foot-nothing girlfriend? This couldn’t be life. I was going to pinch myself to see if it was really happening, but her scratches, kicks and punches gave me ample clarification that I was not dreaming.
Never would I ever strike her, so I did my best to hug-hold her. Knees to the groin made it difficult to maintain – but it calmed the storm. The little girl stared on, traumatized. I held on tightly until my girlfriend had relaxed some, so we could have a civil conversation. She clarified that she was in fact angry at me for exchanging words with a little girl. A girl who was probably in elementary or middle school, while I was mere months away from college. I asked, “Do you really think that I have any type of interest in a ten-year-old girl?” Her response was foolish — something questioning how young she really was, despite her Dora backpack and childlike ways. She argued that if I wasn’t interested I would’ve shooed the girl away. That’s not normal. It is frightening to know that that was her train of thought. That she genuinely believed a small child was winning my affection. The scariest part of this story? I stayed with her for multiple years after that, which makes it debatable which one of us was crazier.
This was one of many cautionary tales that I survived with this girl. The problem is that being weary and asking questions is often defensible, but my overly jealous relationship (albeit was a high school/early college one) featured unwarranted insecurities. We were together most of the time, I had never cheated and there wasn’t a valid reason to think that I would. Being with someone who is too green-eyed and suspicious wears on you, to the point where it makes you, yourself uneasy. You’ll want to put a password on your phone even if there’s nothing to hide. You won’t want to know any girls/guys who they don’t, because it might freak them out. The clock is ticking on these inevitably doomed relationships, but sometimes we dodge the obvious signs (or moving cars) in the hopes that conditions will improve. Just a heads up, they probably won’t. And you might scar the mind of a ten-year-old along the way.
Article By: Christopher Hudspeth