To take an example from a couple years ago, there was a post on Reddit from somebody saying they had a certain personality disorder, inviting people to ask questions. By coincidence (although it didn't seem so at the time), that disorder was the same one I suspected I might have myself (schizoid), and I had an anxiety attack over the fact, which I say with conviction now, because looking back, I am almost positive that's what it was - tightness in chest, rapid breathing, wanting to get out and run away and never look at the site again, etc.. At any rate, I also realize through looking back that the reason I acted the way I did was because to me, it seemed like them being able to say "I have this", when I only thought I might have it myself was a jab at me - essentially saying "I'm better than you because I know for sure, and can be secure because of that, when you're just guessing and have no respectable proof to defend yourself with", which seems to have remained with me all this time, and certainly would have been there before seeing that post as well. "But how does that answer the first question?", you may ask. Having respectable proof (professional diagnosis) for one or more of the conditions that I feel might account for the way I think, feel, and act would alleviate the need to constantly be second-guessing / trying to defend myself, both to myself and to other people, but to put myself in a situation where I could acquire such proof would cause unbearable anxiety of its own. I wish I could think of an unrelated example to describe what I mean, but the best I can come up with is that it feels sort of like the decision contestants are required to make in certain game shows. Once you reach a certain point, you can choose to either take what winnings you've earned and bow out, or stay the course, and risk losing everything you've worked for. Still, why is this so important to me? I can think of no good reason that it should be, but maybe it's just because I haven't found something else to obsess over since last year. It could very well be that there's another period of severe depression in store for me in the future, during which I'll come up with something entirely new to devote all of my free time to thinking about, but if there is, it's impossible to say when.
What I'm really frustrated about though is how while I can do a reasonably decent job writing about those things in here, provided I concentrate and can maintain the proper state of mind (fluid, instead of jumping about from topic to topic), trying to bring it up in conversation with anybody else (at least out of the people I have on my MSN list right now) would result in me feeling as if I had to defend myself to them, which is exactly what happened with Dan before. What started out as a conversation where I just wanted to say "This might be why I reacted badly to something that happened before" ended with me feeling insecure because I had no proof to corroborate what I was saying, and as anybody who's ever been in an argument should know, it's far easier to disprove something (not necessarily factually) than it is to prove it, and that goes back into the above, kind of, in that I'd rather be closed off / remain at a distance from people to lessen the chances of anybody making me feel insecure. Unfortunately, I've yet to find any disorder with ties to insecurity aside from avoidant personality disorder, which I feel doesn't describe me as well as it did before, but that's the funny part. Why do the options keep changing? Shouldn't there be one off to the side somewhere that I keep coming back to? So far, there doesn't appear to be, which means I either haven't found the real answer yet, or this is just an act, and insecurity is the only reason for me being the way I am, but I still can't place where my insecurity starts, which infuriates me. Not enough to make me do anything other than frown at my laptop screen now, but my face has been like that for longer than the past couple minutes. I did like where this entry was going, but without being able to answer the last question, what else can I say?
In more typical news though, it's been nearly ten hours since I made the changes that I hope will have actually fixed my laptop, and so far, while I can't explain exactly why, it feels right now. The three-day test I mentioned previously still stands, but compared to previous attempts at fixing the problem, there's something different, but I can only describe it as a feeling. In any case, downloading movies for Brandon is also well underway, and George's (or rather George's brothers') will be started as soon as his are finished. TV series are going to be a different matter for both of them, moreso for George, because I don't know how often he or his mom will be able to stop by, but with any luck, it won't take too long to get there. Speaking of George's mom though, the story he mentioned her writing which I was part of was posted a couple days ago, and I skimmed through it earlier tonight (literally, dragged the scrollbar as quickly as I could while still being able to read the words), and was... amused. Mention of me is saved until the very last paragraph (by real name, no less), and is erroneous in nature at that, saying that George and I are past friends and coworkers (we may be past coworkers, but just because we don't see each other that often doesn't mean we can't still be friends (Josh, on the other hand...)), and that the first time I gave them cookies, it was because I knew they were in tough times. I can't remember the first time I gave them cookies, to be fair, but I'm pretty sure George only brought them home because they were left over, and nobody else wanted to take them. I suppose it makes for a better story to put it the other way, but it's not the truth. What I find curious though is how utterly awkward it makes me feel to see that she copied the recipe I gave her for cookie sticks into that post word-for-word. Seeing what I've written / put down on paper being given to somebody else isn't an issue, but seeing that person spread that information to other people feels really weird. And to make it even better, the recipe is for cookie sticks, when the cookies they got the very first time George brought some home were no-bake cookies.
I hate to end this entry abruptly, but it's nearly 6am now, and I still want to be up early tomorrow to try calling St. Clair again, so it's time for bed. It's all I can think of to do to increase the chances of getting an answer~