The rote dedication you have to feet is quite remarkable. I think you have been making this thread for months, bumping it twice a day hundreds of times for little more than a few men-feet and the occasional reposted image. To be honest, I have never had this level of dedication to anything at all in all my life save self-pity and the habitual practices like video games. Since you post only twice-daily, I can hardly term this an habitual, unconscious activity akin to video games or netflix. Instead, it is a conscious, concerted, religious dedication to the podial extremity. I can almost imagine you at your lone pulpit, waving worn prayer beads to the rites of your monastery, the world outside unawares of the heartfelt zeal with which you carry out the rituals of your religion.
One only shudders to think what such an individual's habitual activities consist of.

As some consolation, take this painting by John William Waterhouse. I find that it perfectly symbolizes your lonely struggle. The sailor gazes up at The Siren, awash and alone, enticed by her beauty in the ebb and flow of his desperation. Beyond the obvious, her feet are conveniently concealed from view—out of reach, as it were, yet within your grasp. The skin just above is slimy, scaly, so that even when you catch a glimpse of the soles you seek on the high seas, they are only seeming so; In reality, they are those of the Siren, the facsimile, a fake there to fool you.