I wasn’t ever really with anyone who was out of my league. If they were out of my league, I never spoke to them in the first place.
There’s something that disturbs me about a theme on this thread. A number of people have said “get better self esteem” as if it was as easy as walking into a store and buying it. I think that people who have good self esteem probably have no clue what it’s like to think little of yourself, much less to think you are worthless scum who deserves to be homeless, hungry and cold.
Building self esteem is very difficult. Maybe extremely difficult. For me, it is an ephemeral thing that comes and goes as the weather changes. Sometimes I feel like I matter and I do good work, and sometimes I feel like people would be happier if I were dead.
It’s really weird and it makes me somewhat jealous. I see a lot of people in the A league, and I know I’m probably far more talented, intelligent and funny than they are, yet I’m down here in the C league. I’m so grateful to any woman who is willing to talk to me that I generally propose marriage in the next breath!
I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that as of now, I only have one wife! If I recall correctly, I knew I wanted to marry her after knowing her for three weeks, and I probably told her that within a month. It took her a couple of years before she agreed. I don’t consider her to be out of my league, but then, I also don’t consider her to be in my league. Go figure!
Of course, in the end, issues such as “in my league” or not are red herrings. They don’t matter. We only think they matter. If we never thought about it, it would be irrelevant. I have a morbid fascination with such concepts even though I know they hurt me. I know that I’m fine as long as I’m not comparing myself to anyone else. The instant I start comparing, I’m screwed.
You’d think I would stop comparing myself. I mean, I think I’m stupid to allow myself to be sucked in by comparison questions and yet, here I am, torturing myself with my sense of inadequacy. I don’t have to do it, so why do I? Honestly, I have no idea. Maybe I like the feeling of being tortured? I should have been one of those medieval monks—the kind that flagellate themselves all the time. Can anyone sell me a hair shirt?