Journals of a Love Addict
The Blog
Painting the Kitchen (And Other Ways To Avoid Reality)
Did I have food on the table and a roof over my head? Yes. Was I functional? No. But reminding myself daily that I had so much and should be grateful for what I had only contributed to the shame that came with the misery that led to the avoidance and the growing dysfunction.
I wasn't thriving because I was avoiding my reality; or, as my friend Becky Vollmer says, I was miserable because I refused to say it out loud or even acknowledge it to myself. I was miserable because I refused to own my reality.
Mötley Crüe and Peach Schnapps Made Me Do It
You see, I was 15 and grounded for three months because Mom caught me sneaking out of the house one night earlier that summer. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere, as in maybe never-ever-again; but I did anyway. This time I snuck out of the house in broad daylight, arranging for that boyfriend to pick me up at the bottom of a hill on the aforementioned country highway on which we lived. I thought I was so clever; telling Mom that I was Just gonna go say Hi to the neighbors across the road real quick - which I'd never done before because I hardly knew them - and thinking she wasn't onto me. But she was.
The Show-off
Negative false beliefs, fear, shame, and self-doubt. That's quite a lineup of ingredients that contributes to keeping us small by subconsciously telling us that it's not ok to take up space or to be the center of attention, that it's not ok to be BIG. And what exactly does it mean to be big?
Suddenly, That Summer
I couldn't have known it at the time, but this was my first memorable shame attack and my earliest recollection of feeling that its not safe to be me...I should be more careful...I can't let my guard down when I'm out there in the world. In other words, I unconsciously absorbed responsibility for what happened and assumed it must have been my fault.
A Friend for the End of the World
When I read this 20 years after writing the entry, my initial reaction was an eye-roll and shaming thoughts consisting of "I sound like such a victim. A spoiled brat. Why did I let that go on for so long?" In other words, I had very little empathy for myself; that is until I went further back in my journal and realized WHY I didn't end it.
I Love You, I Honestly (Maybe?) Love You
I believed that I loved this man, that I should love him, and wanted so much to feel in love; but what I really craved was the addiction, the intensity, the push/pull that I had experienced in my previous relationship. I wanted to feel hooked-as if I couldn't live without him; because to me, in 1997, that's what loving someone was supposed to feel like.
Accidental Anorexia
I spent most of 1996 recovering from a Titanic breakup and all of the detriment I'd caused in my life leading up to it. During that relationship, I was unknowingly holding everything together with Scotch Tape, and after it ended I found myself surrounded by numerous tiny pieces of Jodi that demanded immediate attention.
Broken Arms and Yo-yos
I can recall the pain of these obsessive thoughts and the continued irrational hope for repairing something so malignant. It's difficult to read today, but at least I now have the benefit of understanding WHY I was stuck in this mental loop…
Making Love Out Of Nothing At All
Love Addicts are addicted to being loved, but more specifically to feeling loved, to chasing love, to creating love where there is none. It's exhausting and debilitating and, in extreme cases, can literally kill a person due to the self-neglect that occurs. But here's the thing: As obsessed with the idea of love as one may be, the Love Addict can't tolerate healthy love or true intimacy because it's so terribly uncomfortable.