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Hi Anita,
I’ll go through them and ‘clean them up’ as needed. But… I think she decided to ‘make the break’ shortly after she left the area… and was probably thinking about it even before then. After her relocation, here followed a long ‘silence’ which led me to believe that she was gone for good, and when I “bumped” her name back to the top of the texts list in my phone (where it had spent so much time – – found it depressing to see her name slipping lower and lower on that list) by sending a “miss you and hope you know what you’re doing” text… she answered. A few exchanges, ‘can we talk again?’, “yes, I’d like that…” then nothing again, and I tried to call (she was always telling me to call, and I did – – but not once did she pick up, and this time was no exception), left a brief message — again, nothing of consequence, ‘miss you, call me if you get the chance…’ and it was closely following that that I got the politely-worded C&D request. As I said, I’ll review them and see what getting them up here will entail. Never tried transferring a text from a phone to a PC. I’ve got three years’ worth of stuff… not sure how much of it would be relevant, or where I might start looking for “signs.” I’ll let you know. And I thank you for the offer!
Hi TeaK,
Well, by “not anyone,” I meant ‘anyone special’ to her, not so much that I’m a nobody. Though you aren’t wrong about my very low self-esteem. Comes hand-in-hand with a lack of self-confidence, except in areas where I *know* I have expertise and knowledge acquired the hard way, then I’ll stand my ground – – but if I got into an argument with someone about what’s black and what’s white, if my ‘opponent’ were vehement enough, I’d actually start doubting myself; back up and review, to see if maybe I *am* mistaken somewhere. That self-assurance of “knowing what I know” is mostly absent.
I was a normal, happy kid until 8, when my mom grabbed us and split. The stepfather showed up not too much longer after that, and he was okay for maybe a couple of years, but gradually it became obvious that he didn’t think much of me at all (especially in comparison to *his* son). I don’t think he knew how to relate to a shy, quite, retreating, bookworm, sports-hating, not-very-active kid with little drive or ambition. *His* son, of course, was my polar opposite… a “proper” boy. He had a list of derogatory pet nicknames for me, and often expressed his opinion that I was never going anywhere in life, that I’d never amount to anything.
Eight years of that, coupled with the same amount of time as a social outsider in school and with few friends, and bingo: low self-esteem. Adding drugs and alcohol to the mix *did* make me feel better, but only for as long as the ‘high’ lasted, then I was back with a crash, looking forward to the next high… the only relief I knew. The only place I felt accepted. Never fit in in social situations (too apprehensive about appearing foolish or committing some gaffe or being rejected altogether). I was hyper-competent at work, but worked alone based in a van, driving all around New England. Did interface with my customers well enough (*they* loved me, anyway, as I put their needs before anything else, including my bosses desire to maximize profit by any means available, including theft and deception, which I flatly refused to go along with – – and suffered for it.) Also, those interactions were pretty superficial, centered around the equipment I worked on. Easy-peasy, provided it stayed there. So a lot of continued failure at “fitting in” or feeling comfortable anywhere also eroded my self-esteem, gradually convincing me that there was just something really wrong with *me.* And the longer it went on, and the more I remained distressed by social settings, the more cemented-in-place that conviction became.
No, we didn’t do any self-esteem work; anger came first, and there was a breakthrough in that area just before he had to leave. I think I can continue forward and make progress with that. Once I have a reasonably solid grip on that, that low self-opinion is next on the hit list.