Driving Myself Crazy.

There has been a lot going on in my head the past month. And I mean it, a lot. Not because anything big is happening, or someone said anything, or I experienced something. I guess it's just because I have too much time on my hands. Too much time filled with strenuous thinking. Let me just give you a run down of my typical day so you know just how much thinking I have time for:

Around 11:00 A.M. I finally roll out of bed, yes, I know I waste half of my day.

I then take a shower and slowly (I mean, slowly) get dressed and beautified.

I usually have to be at work at 2. Which means I have already taken about 3 hours to get ready, not because I need the time, but because I fill it with too much thinking and end up passing time just staring into the mirror and look at the girl staring back at me.

When I get to work, I sit at the computer. I talk to no one (unless the random passerby stumbles in) and think some more. This is usually accompanied with looking at people's Facebook profiles and really trying to figure them out.

I get off work at 6:00 PM, drive home, and fill about 2 hours of my time with my parents.

Lately I have been taking some time and just driving (a.k.a making my gas tank very, very sad.) I don't know where I am going, but I always end up somewhere peaceful to. . . yes, think.

When I arrive home from my spontaneous road trips, my family is either a.) asleep, or b.) not home.

So, I watch 1 episode of Friends. 

At this point it is usually midnight or so, but I am not tired.

That's when the hardcore thinking starts (and sometimes even tears). I just go sit in my room and think. About everything. About anything. Which I will do for hours, yes hours.

I said I think about everything, and I do, but truth is, there has been one thing on my mind lately. Who am I? I guess the reason I ask myself that is because I am so confused about what my path is in life, that I feel like I have been lying about myself for a long time. Here's why: Everybody always says that I am always so incredibly happy. . . but, I'm not. I even say that about myself in past posts, which is where the lies lay. I'm not happy because of a lot of reasons: I wonder if anyone really cares about me. If so, who? I wonder if I am doing the right things. I wonder if my family will be proud of me. I wonder if I say the right things. I wonder what would have happened if I would have done something else. I wonder who I should talk to. I wonder if I should say how I really feel. I wonder if I should tell people all of this, or how I feel about them, or all the emotions I have bottled up. But what kills me the most is wondering if people only like me for who they think I am.

Okay, this is really depressing and totally not helping me. It's just making me think more.

Also, I stayed up most of the night last night rereading The Perks of Being a Wallflower. If you haven't read this book, do it. I am not a reader, but I read this one in a few hours. The movie comes out on Friday, so watch that too. The reason I brought this up is because, (if you have read it, you'll understand) I feel like I am starting to turn into Charlie. The things he does/thinks. Yeah, that's how I have been living, which is really, quite depressing.

*And by the way, I got pulled over Saturday night. Watch for that story, it's a good one.*