I've recently been diagnosed with H.D.D...

It can happen to any of us. A diagnosis that falls out of the sky causing us to re-evaluate EVERYTHING, right down to the way in which we breathe, walk across the street, and tie our shoes.  It's an awakening that spawns an inner dialogue of self reflection, sometimes judgement, and reconsideration of choices made.
My diagnosis of H.D.D. came a mere 24 hours ago in the most unlikely of forms and location for such a revealing.  I was taking long sips out of my short glass of Captain and Sprite at my favorite watering hole along side a co-worker whom was contemplatively stirring her margarita.  Our conversation had sauntered in and out of remarks over the Rockies game playing on the bar's tv and our deepest heartfelt aspirations as women aiming to become something meaningul when we grow up. She a nurse, myself a veterinary surgeon...among other things.  Lofty goals floating on the horizon for both of us...
Bar chatter of the locals and the noise of a persistent straw searching for any remnants of liquid left hiding in between ice cubes cut through our moment of quiet, self evaluations.  It was a sigh and long stare that preceded her nonchalant, yet confident metaphorical slap of my disease declaration that she obviously had harbored knowledge of for quite some time.
 "You have H.D.D., Stace.  You suffer from Hero Deficiency Disease.  Every goal you have is somehow related to saving the world." 
I chuckled. That kindof reactive chuckle that falls out like a gutteral reflex when you're not sure if someone is joking or not.  She smiled back but not the I'm just kidding smile.  She smiled in that unwavering I'm being dead serious so deal with it kindof smile.  In true search and rescue style I returned to a dedicated probe search for Captain hiding in my glass.  The diagnosis was sinking in to my bloodstream faster than my short glass of happy hour and the million thoughts that had just been set into motion gave the false, dizzy feeling of being buzzed.

She was right.  I fill my days, my moments, my head with marathon like loops of "have to's", "should's", "gotta's", "how can I help?" and "I will's" until I'm exhausted by the weight of the dreams and aspirations I carry around in a backpack too big for my frame. 
H.D.D... I wonder if it's curable.  Somehow, I have a gut feeling my condition is terminal...
If the cure is to adopt a more conventional, mediocre existence than I'll take my chances with the prognosis.  I'd rather die being a hero to someone than die having been nothing at all.