I remember the specific instance in which I realized I was the problem. It was Christmas and I should have been in better spirits. Instead, I was tearing down my 14-year-old cousin for nothing more than teenage narcissism. I was screaming at my father over something insignificant. I was angry all the time and I had no good reason to be. I was on the verge of destroying the support system that had seen me through the years I had spent overseas. I needed to talk to someone.