if you could only see the way he loves me.

There's something about Monday, isn't there? There's something about the day that causes some sort of dread and hate within me. It just seems like every Monday, I find something to criticize myself with and thus feel like I'm worthless again. And believe me, on any other given day, I would recognize and appreciate my own self-worth. I know how important I am to some people and how much they all mean to me. So disappointing them is never a pleasant thought. And yet, every Monday, their voices are all blocked out by the overwhemling nagging inside my head that doesn't seem to go away until either 1) someone finds some pleasant way to get to me, or 2) midnight on Tuesday morning.

I feel like there's something horribly wrong with me, that I'm a tragedy in waiting. My life is not tragic, nor has it ever been close to being deemed tragic. In fact, my life, in retrospect, is practically flawless. Apart from some major bumps, bruises, heartaches, and losses along the way, there's not really been anything massively wrong with my life or where its headed.

When I was younger, I thought I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to do with my life. I had so much direction in my life that I was doing loops in my head trying to figure out what path would be the best for me. And that worked for a while. I started college in the fall of 2007, just a few months after my high school graduation. I lasted a measely year before I dropped it because I had no idea where I was supposed to go or what in the world I was supposed to do. And to this day, almost a year and a half after I stopped going to classes, I still have no idea which path my life is supposed to take. And this makes me feel absolutely god-awful, miserably, or however else you want to describe it. Insertwordformiserablehere. I feel like I'm such a failure because I'm following my mother's exact footsteps, and that was everything that she didn't want for me. I mean, I know there are plenty of things I could do with my life. Plenty. I could work in IT, I'm a natural with computers. I love languages, and that's what I've been leaning toward most recently. Forensics is still rather interesting, and writing seems like it would keep me satisfied for the rest of my life also. My heart is torn in so many different directions, and I think its due to all of the pressure to make something of myself, to do something significant in my life so I can tell my kids and grandkids how absolutely amazing it was. 

Everything seems so fairly insignificant. My friends all have problems that are far worse than mine. And here I am bitching. Yey.