It started with Little House on the Prairie and The Boxcar Children before moving on to Anne of Green Gables and The Nancy Drew Files. I wouldn’t even realize it until much later, though, and by then I was old enough to face the truth. I have addictive personality disorder.

To be completely honest, I’ve never been diagnosed. I’m not even sure it’s something you can be diagnosed with. It was only when I began Netflixing the first season of Veronica Mars and found myself buying the entire series within 24 hours of watching the first disc that it became truly apparent to me: Books, movies, hobbies–each of these had the potential to completely hijack my life, sometimes for a week, sometimes for years. Phone calls go unreturned and happy hours unattended. My brain becomes consumed and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit.

Last night I could feel it creeping up on me again. The coldness of an oncoming obsession. The tight ball of anticipation.

My brother had pushed the boxed set of Heroes Season 1 into my hands on Sunday during a break in the football action, securing my word that I would give it a fair shake. One episode in–which was intended to lull me to sleep–and I’m already consumed with that most horrible of questions: “What next?”

Add another one to the list. Superheroes get me every time.