I'm sitting here at 10:22 on a Sunday night. I finished my report for World Lit, which was an insult to my questionable intelligence, and now I can't fall asleep. Okay, so what if I haven't tried. So what if I probably could if I did try. That doesn't matter.

What matters is that I'm sitting here on a Sunday night with "Shiver" by Coldplay on repeat and I'm stuck in a void of inward self-contemplation. And I think I somehow got the idea into my head that if I sit here and pick apart all the ideas in my head, I'll somehow find the answer. And that means staying up, because you can't pick apart ideas in your sleep.

I feel like a mental patient who forgot to take her medicine. I know thoughts such as these aren't normal, yet I can't stop myself from thinking them.

The most abnormal thought flowing through my head is that God is truly on my side, like more so than everyone else, because of all the chances I've been getting in life in the past year. It's like, even when I fuck up everything I have, I just get another turn. And I can't accept that it just may be good luck or dumb luck or a coincidence. I have to believe that God truly has got something unforeseeably awesome out there in store for me because otherwise I would've thrown myself off a bridge by now.

The most ironic part about this is my recent proclaimation that I am agnostic. Which means that I don't even know if I believe in God.

It's nights like this that make me really belive in all that chemical imbalance gobbledygook that my psychologists have told me over the years.

I am crazy. And I'm going to turn 18 in nine days. And someday, I won't be too young to have gone through all that I have. Because I'll be old enough to have gone through it.

And that's the scariest part. I like having my honor badge of Suvivor. I like being the fucked up kid who somehow made it through. People never make as big a deal for an adult who makes it through. Because all adults had to go through something. But when you're 17, what I've been through is freaky to people. I tell of the many bouts of depression, of the panic attacks, of the three psychologists, of the two suicide attempts, of the epilepsy, of the poor childhood... all of that freaks people out when you're 17. When you get older, it's just something that happened when you were a kid that you should be over by now.

Maybe I'll never get over it. Maybe I'll be stuck in my teenaged mindset until the day I die. Maybe I'll be one of those people that I hate. Maybe I'll be the biggest hypocrite around.

For some odd reason, I really want to talk to Jared right now. I want him to make me laugh and tell me I'm not crazy and that even if I was, he's crazy too.

I don't know if he would even say that. But in my dreams he does.

And that's all for this fucked up night. I don't know what I'll do now. But it won't involve sleeping.