I Don't Think I'll Ever Get That Thirty-Day Chip (10/10/08 Friday)

I tried to build on yesterday, but I just didn't know how. I was friendly toward Julie, but I couldn't find the balance between "knowing" and indifference, and Julie, if anything, seemed a bit more aloof. But there I go seeing things. If that blush last night wasn't good enough for my confidence, what will be? I'm tempted to blame it on Julie's shell, but that would be grossly unfair. Where's the compassion? Where's the actual interest in getting to know her? I'm trying to validate my feelings for her through her. What the hell have I learned in five months? That I have all the answers and don't know what to do with them. There's an organic problem that goes deeper than any neatly boxed rationale. I don't need a self-help book full of mental tricks. It's not a New Year's resolution. It's not deciding to be a certain way and doing certain things toward that end. It's me looking where I don't want to look to find what I don't want to find and doing the work I don't want to do. And the irony is, these are just words.

Here's a revelation: I'm obsessed. Care to dispute that? I deny myself any bit of life that distracts me from Julie. Everything I do is for her approval or notice. How can I expect that of someone or subject myself to it? Is this something I didn't know? No, just something I hadn't admitted. Is this an addiction? I think I've just taken the first step. "Hello, my name is Dion, and I'm addicted to Julie." What comes next? Apology? Who have I hurt, and how, with this addiction? Don't tell me.

And my support group and sponsor is me. Not much help there. Hinckley, Stacey, and Mike have been great helping do what I've told them I wanted to do, but when is one of them going to tell me what I've just told myself? When I'm with them, how much do I care about anything but the one person I'm not with? As happens with nearly everyone in my life, I've come to take them for granted, taking what I need, giving little, and ignoring them when they've outlived their usefulness. How much have I really grown? How much do I really appreciate anyone?

And what do I do about any of these discoveries besides beat myself up over them? Where's the compasion for myself? Not the self-pity--that's been done to death (sadly, not it's own). When am I going to stop accepting these things and do something about them? These are not among those acceptable flaws. I wasn't born this way; I was made this way; and I can be unmade and put back together the right way. Can't I?