Yes, I'm starting to think it may be time to visit a psychiatrist or someone of the sort. Believe I'm starting to go quite paranoid. I smell smoke where there isn't any, I sometimes see haze in front of my eyes when there shouldn't be any (though this could be related to family-wide eye problems rather than budding paranoia), I stay up extremely late when I smell something that reminds me of burning material--like today, with the dust in the heater. I jerk out of a sound sleep if I smell Mom making poached eggs or something in the kitchen and go to investigate. I haven't used the stove or the oven in months--everything I eat lately has either been microwaved or doesn't require cooking at all. Just a few minutes ago, I was down on my hands and knees sniffing around the air vents because I thought I smelled smoke again.

I know this isn't normal behavior, and it worries me. I'm supposed to be the sane one, persevering through hardship and shining on through with optimism and all that. I've been able to pass through everything else and turn a light on that--losing my childhood home of eleven years, LOTS of personal possessions, and the expected trauma when one wakes up to one's house burning down. I've gotten through with that just fine, and I've moved on with my life. But it seems as though paranoia is welling up within me. It's starting to interfere with my life, and I don't like it. I also get the feeling that Mom and Gram are starting to worry, too. First from the report that I smelled something burny this morning (Mom confirms it was just burning dust from the heater kicking in for the first time this year). And now, just this evening, I told Gram that I smelled something smoky in this end of the house. She didn't smell anything, but told me to come and get her if the smell got stronger.

And I don't know whether to trust my nose or not anymore. I don't know whether I'm really smelling it or whether it's just in my likely-crazed mind. That's the bad thing about this--on the one hand, it would serve me well and keep me on guard. On the other, it would end up as a "boy who cried wolf" kind of scenario. Or I'll just wind up like the title character from American McGee's Alice. Jesus!

I wonder if I'm just being silly about this, or whether I really should go and get checked out or something. I mean, if it's interfering that much with my life, I probably should hitch a ride to the nearest psychiatrist's office, right? I wonder what Mom would say. I'll have to flag her down sometime soon and ask or leave her a note or something.

What do you guys think? Am I being silly about all this? Or do I have a legitimate concern?