Two Knives And A Locked Door

All we did in Psychology today was take online personality tests. Out of curiousity, I took a Personality Disorder test and came out higher-than-average for Paranoid, Schizoid, Schizotypal, Borderline, Histrionic, Avoidant, Dependent, and Obsessive-Compulsive, of which the two highest were Paranoid and Borderline. Here is how the two are described:

Paranoid: Individual generally tends to interpret the actions of others as threatening (Individuals with this disorder often appear odd or peculiar)
Borderline: Individual shows a generalized pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image, and observable emotions, and significant impulsiveness. (Individuals with this disorder have intense, unstable emotions, distorted self-perception, and/or behavioral impulses)

Despite the fact that online tests are rarely accurate, this one (along with others at similarminds.com) have often proved very true for me.

I remember one time a few months ago, I was absolutely convinced I saw someone outside the house. Mom and Dad were gone and I had my little sisters in bed. Han came over at about 11:30 with two friends to check my house, yard, barn, field, pasture, and even the nearby cemetery. Before they arrived, I had both my little sisters move into the same room--the one whose window would lead them onto the roof and into my room if need be-- and locked myself in a room downstairs.
It's also not uncommon for me to have a friend stay on the phone with me while I search the house with a knife and flashlight, or for me to stay up waiting for Mom and Dad with a couple of knives.

I hope I don't really have a disorder, but regardless, I often wonder if I need therapy. The things is, my parents have three more daughters to put through college, probably five proms to pay for, not to mention a couple more cars and up to four weddings, and seeing as my therapy has never helped for more than a few months before and gas prices are rocketing upwards, I can't ask them for therapy that might not help again.

I once read a story about a lady who shoved her futon mattress into a corner and wouldn't leave it unless she had to, and if she was away from it for more than a few minutes, she had an anxiety attack, because the futon mattress was her "safe spot." I really don't want to turn out like that lady. I can just see myself in ten years, sitting on a mattress in the corner, with two knives and a locked door.

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