Sometimes I could choke on how silly I am.

I realize that I get offended by the stupidest things. Like when someone steals a pack of Oreos from my room or says "That'll do pig" to me without thinking. Or throws ice at me from an upper floor of the dorm. Really, it's not a big deal. It's cookies. Or it's a movie quote. Or it's an ice cube that didn't even hit me anyway. I don't know what's wrong with me these past couple days, but these things are really getting under my skin. They're not just little things to me. They're grievous breeches of some kind of code of respect and by committing these acts against me, someone is saying I'm not worth their respect. It's making me furious.

I'm getting angrier and angrier every day. Closer and closer to snapping at the people I love. I remember that I basically told my mother to shut up in the most snide way I could possibly manage a month or so ago on the phone. Why did I do that? All she did was ask me to go to a church that my brother attended while he was here. I heard her trying to force me to be like him, though, and if you know me and you know my brother, you know why that would make me mad. I shouldn't have snapped at her though. I never say things like that to my mother.

I feel like I'm full of knots. Every little thing is crawling under my nails, beating on my brain and tangling up my guts until I can't breathe, much less stay calm.

I'll pray about it. I don't know why I wasn't before. Or, I do know why, but it's a stupid reason I don't realize I'm using until I really look at it. I feel like whatever problems I'm facing are so small, so inconsequential, that praying about them would be a waste of time when I could use those few seconds to fix the problem myself. Like I've ever been able to fix anything on my own before in my life. My mom is right when she says I'm not an adult yet. I'm still the obnoxious child who refuses to hold hands when crossing the street. Soon I'll get hit, plastered across the road like so much red paint. It's just a matter of time.

When your daydreams are more violent than the movies that give you nightmares, there's something wrong.