Reading Chbosky like there’s no tomorrow

I’ve felt terribly lonely these last few months. No one has invited me to parties or shopping sprees, barely even texted me. Not that I have called anyone… Christmas break especially has mostly been spent in the couch. I turn on the TV but find nothing to watch; open a book, then find myself unable to concentrate after only a few pages; do 5 sit-ups and call it a workout; open the fridge simply to look what’s in there.
There are many ways of dealing with loneliness and abandon. My closest friends listen to music – dark, heavy rock – about people (the singers themselves?) who use drugs and prostitutes to drown the sadness. I know people who work out, to make themselves to tired to feel anything. I know people who eat chocolate.
I turn to books. More precisely: The perks of being a wallflower.
Sometimes it feels as if no one understand me better than that book. It almost scares me that a 43 years old man from Pennsylvania can  word my feelings so well, especially through Charlie. He – Charlie – is incredibly introvert, spending most of his time watching others: a wallflower. He seems to notice everything that happens, and how everyone feel about it.
  As the story proceeds he starts to become a larger and larger part of it. He makes friends. He goes to concerts and parties. He smokes pot. He often doesn’t even know what he’s doing, things just happen. I feel sorry for him because of that, as I feel sorry for people around him.
The book is so full of perfect descriptions of my feelings, I have eight pages of quotes and that’s not by far all the ones which spoke to me. Not even close.
Maybe it’s bad that I put so much affection into a book…
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