That giant sucking sound

I'm pretty sure I have ADD or something. Maybe not ADD, but some kind of personality disorder that causes my moods and general well-being to violently fluctuate for no apparent reason. Sounds charming, eh?
I genuinely don't know what my problem is; one minute, I am perfectly content with the state of affairs in my life, and the next, I'm questioning everything all at once. Maybe I should major in philosophy in graduate school. That way, I could go ahead and self-sabotage myself into a life of true insanity..I jest.
I dunno, maybe it's just that with all of the choices a person of my age (22, of course) is confronted with, we have no option but to question, second-guess, and then fool ourselves into thinking that everything is fine for the time being until we start the questioning, second-guessing part all over again. It's maddening. No wonder pharmaceutical sales of anti-depressants have skyrocked in this country.
Sometimes, I truly envy people with simpler minds, who seem perfectly content to follow the prescribed path in life: Go to college, major in something that won't threaten a potential life partner, meet your husband, get married right out of college and then pretty much shelve your goals to raise a family..
Now, here's the thing. I could probably do that until the part where the kids go off to college, and then I would have an American Beauty-type breakdown where I would question what I had done with my life and probably start working out in the garage, listening to Frampton and smoking pot while fantasizing about my son's hot soccer teammate.
That seems to be more of a recipe for disaster than just trying to figure shit out right now, you know?
I do wish I could turn my brain off sometimes, though. It's exhausting just to listen to some of the thoughts I have on occasion..and dreams..good Lord, the dreams. I have had dreams that really ought to be studied by a team of doctors in Sweden.
And the result of this overactive brain thing seems to serve to sabotage stuff for me as well. I am a girl who just says, text messages or e-mails whatever pops into my brain and then, about 70% of the time, I feel a fair amount of regret, but it's too late. I've already changed my mind about whatever it was that I unleashed, and I can't pull it back.
I guess what I'm saying is that I have no personal self-discipline. I have always been too passionate a person, listening to my heart way more than my head and usually paying a price for it. And wondering how in the hell others can be so frustratingly logical while looking for an appropriate Shakespearean sonnet to sum up my feelings.
At times, I think, well, I would much rather be like me and actually feel stuff and experience love and the requisite hurt and pain that can accompany it, and then there are those times when I'm in the throes of that lovely hurt and pain, that I think, "Emily, your brain is there for a reason. Start listening to it rather than your stupid, wide-open heart."
I dunno which way is better. Without passion, there would be no great poetry, music, art or love, but do you ever notice how those artists, writers and musicians who felt all of that exquisite pain and passion die horrible, gut-wrenching deaths because no one could ever fulfill their expectations?
Something to consider..