Dear Diary

I tried talking to Bob again this morning. I swear that guy must be miserable. Once again, he didn't say a word, just stared right through me. I don't think he hates me, or anyone for that matter. All of the office gossip assumes that he is just arrogant and rude. People assume that he doesn't talk to anyone because he hates them. I know better. I remember being like him.

The fear doesn't go away. I have just learned to deal with it. Lots of meditation, positive affirmations, and deep breathing helps when the fear grips your stomach with an iron fist, but it doesn't make it go away. I still imagine them laughing behind my back, I can almost hear the insults and sarcastic remarks. But I know that most of that is all in my own head, and the rest doesn't really matter. I have been able to arrive at this point because someone refused to believe that I was surly and anti-social. She saw through the facade and understood the fear behind it. She believed that I was a person worth knowing and made the effort to do so.

Years of therapy and now I feel like it's my turn to help someone. Repay karma, if that is possible. I can help Bob. If only I can get him to trust me.