Diagnosis

It's one thing to consider, analyze, and research, but a diagnosis is another thing altogether.
You can look at medical websites galore, comparing listed symptoms and comparing your memories to what shows up, or you can read tons of biographies about people with X condition and match your life to theirs.
But a diagnosis is something different. It's real. You can't make it appear and disappear to fit the circumstance, like you can with personal diagnoses. You can't argue about how serious or trivial it is. It's defined, measured, and sure.
It's no longer just a tendency to complain about when the Me Monster game gets started, it's a serious trial that has to be dealt with.

Which is why I was quite happy when my results came back within the normal range.
Apparently, as long as I'm not eating, I'll be healthy. Ironic.

Final Crash.

I was so very close too.

I wasn't going to miss anyone. The scant occasions where I did something social would be negligible, and the few (but good) friends I made here would fade without complaint. Sadly, my invisibility cloak faded. In these, the final weeks of my freshman year of college, I've had fun.
A small but enjoyable birthday party was thrown for me. People I had never talked to before in my ward greeted me by name. I performed my act on stage (without messing up, much to my delight) and received so many kind compliments. I exhausted myself on giant trampolines. I climbed a rock wall and fell off. Intentionally. Three times. I was invited to another guy's apartment, watched Taledega Nights, and spent the night there. I watched Humor U with my FHE sister and serendipitously met up with my biological one and her boyfriend. I've been eating actual food. My sleeping routine has been shattered. I wasn't supposed to miss anyone, but now I will.