Existential Angst Under the Guise of a Series of Well-Constructed Sentences

I was at my grandma's house without internet today, so I opened up OpenOffice and wrote. Here is the wacky result.

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From time to time, I feel like an un-person. It is startling to realize that, if I were to die right now, the world would keep spinning. My life doesn't actually affect others that strongly, despite their vehement claims to the contrary.
I've had an increasing premonition that I am not exactly here. With all the media, opinions, and useless facts that I have gathered over the years, I am constantly reminded that I appear to just act as a vessel for information. I used to believe that we all contain an inherent personality, but I'm starting to doubt this. I've come to realize that our personality is like software that is easily mutable by outside forces. Although this is a necessary quality that must be present in a being that's main purpose is to store and transmit data, it does not cease to be disconcerting.
In the past, I've attempted to prove myself wrong by compiling a list of qualities that I thought would set me apart from other people and prove that I am, in fact, a being with control of my own thoughts and feelings. The results have been a bit saddening.
I have found that a worryingly large part of myself is based around books and TV shows. My love of Doctor Who and Neil Gaiman's works is part of myself, but it exists as a feeling that attaches itself to an outside source of data that happens to intrigues me- it is a link that I create to make sure that I don't loose the information.
This same process goes for my interest in astrology, my fondness for the word “defenestration,” my opinion of gun laws, and the loathing I feel when I accidentally use the word “gotten.”
All of these things make up a vast collection of connections to outside sources, storing and keeping track of huge amounts of information that appear to have little purpose in my practical life.
Although the exact grouping of these connections is unique to myself, anyone could (in theory) develop a similar enough pattern in their own brain so as to essentially become me.
Sometimes this finding makes me feel uneasy, which further fuels my paranoia and existential angst. What does it mean to feel uneasy about my feelings of uneasiness, and what purpose would it serve? None, as far as I can tell.
Yet the unease, this foggy emotional connection, must be important. It would appear as if everyone has experienced some existential angst as some point or another; however, this near- universal feeling does not seem to have a practical use in our lives. For example, the fear of snakes is entirely natural and serves a very obvious purpose, as does the fear of heights and of darkness. This connection to a possibly dangerous object or situation and a feeling of unease and repulsion serves a wonderful purpose- to keep us alive. Likewise, feelings of love, satisfaction, and exhilaration serve the same great purpose. We are wired to be driven to survive.
Our fear of the oblivion, however, does not seem to contribute to this drive; if anything, it tends to inhibit it. Why would we fear our own perception of the world if it cannot be changed? What purpose would the terror we feel when we look at a map of our galaxy serve if it does nothing to help us survive?
I may never know. We may never know.
In spite of this simple fact, the feeling remains. It is a connection that has been passed down for as long as we can remember, hardwired into our brains, universally emblazoned in our skulls as if it were the most important piece of data that has ever been recorded.
We must understand why this connection remains and, if possible, learn why it is there in the first place.
Again, this is a tall order. One that may never be attainable.
It is, however, worth a try.