The realization came slowly, not with a lightning strike but methodically drenching like a light drizzle.

I have a problem, and everyone feeds my disease.

Sure, the post office has to do its job, and video stores probably didn’t know about me. No, I take that back, Blockbuster should have known that a single male renting “Here on Earth” was a silenced cry for help.

Her name is Leelee Sobieski. And for some reason or another, she’s the embodiment of all that’s good about the female gender.

Hard as it is to admit, even hardcore movie fans might not know her. She played a nerd in “Never Been Kissed” (splendid!), the title character in the TV movie “Joan of Arc” (delightful!) and the object of affection in “Here on Earth” (career defining!). Other people’s comments about her give my nerves a new kind of spider-sense, when even the faintest hint of disapproval provokes my wrath. Where did things turn so … weird?

Celebrity adoration isn’t new, especially in the hormonally charged-worlds of high schools and colleges. Posters and movie collections serve as shrines to cinematic and televised beauty. But sometimes there are lines crossed, wherever they might lay.

Sobieski isn’t the only recipient of adoration (although she should be). Just look at dorm walls and computer wallpaper and open your eyes to sexy poses, piercing eyes and a little bit of that celebrity for you to own by your lonesome. Take that little millichunk of Russell Crowe, Jon Bon Jovi or the detestable Jennifer Lopez and enjoy … but beware.

Just liking a really bad movie like “Here on Earth” doesn’t provide the problem, though. Truthfully, when I reviewed the movie for the Northern Star I gave it much too high a ranking (two stars), based solely on the lead actress. I’m such a sell-out, a fraud!

Phew, the truth has set me free. But that still won’t change the review or my mini-obsession. That movie served as a gateway drug, leading me down the perilous road of fan Web pages, the crack cocaine of fandom. Needless to say, the fiending wasn’t pretty.

But the pictures were, and that’s when control was lost for good. My subscription to Entertainment Weekly and newsstand purchases fueled my fire, with those pictures neatly cut out and placed strategically on my wall. A bad day at the office? No worries, the walls provided comfort.

None of this really bothered me, even as those in the office scoffed at a few pictures attached to the bulletin board. “Nerd alert!” they’d taunt. And I would cry.

Recently, though, I noticed something that my mother would scold me for. In casual conversations, I’d mention Sobieski’s name like it was the cool new adjective or noun.

“Holy smokes, that lady is almost Leelee-fine!”

When you start messing with the English language, an infatuation quickly turns into an obsession. As a result, I’ve gone cold turkey, and things couldn’t be worse.

Every urge for my eyes to dart conspicuously to the walls now must be squashed. Maybe I’ll start reading more books, or I’ll get hooked on someone else, someone less detrimental to my health. Kirsten Dunst could be a contender, and she’s actually been in some good movies.

Maybe when I’m older and wiser (and maybe a bit more mature), I can enjoy Miss Sobieski for who she is — a promising actress with abnormally good looks.

After all, there would be nothing more pathetic than cutting out pictures for the walls of my retirement home.