The Saga of Love and Lust

I don't know if it is an OCD thing, or just a me thing, but I have always struggled with having dual personalities. Like the archaic, but somewhat reasonable findings of Freud, I feel that my Id and my Super Ego are at constant odds with one another. I seem to go through phases of complete extremes. At times, I can be absolutely uninhibited, while at others I am completely prudish and judgemental, bordering on withdrawn. These phases can last for months or even years. It's not like bipolar disorder, where a person would be manic for a few weeks, staying up all night going on benders, then dipping into a deep depression that is hard to crawl out of. It's more within my own personality, a change of view, a change of core principles.
The straight-laced side of me wants to be a not only a good person, but a model citizen for humanity. My Super Ego holds me to these impossible standards that no one could ever achieve, at times they are downright puritanical. I have so many ridiculous rules to live by now. I think this is where my OCD really sprang from. The continuous squelching of my animal instincts, really not even by society, but by something much more close to home, my family, namely my paternal grandmother and to some extent my father who was hugely overprotective. I was held to these rigid and more accurately obsolete folkways of the 1950's. If it had been up to my grandmother, I wouldn't have had any contact with anyone, especially not any boys, even as a child. Once, when I was maybe five or six years old, I stuck my tongue at a boy who was on the other side of a window, just being a silly kid. He thought it was pretty funny I guess because then he too stuck his tongue out. We kept sticking our tongues out closer and closer to the window until we mashed both of our tongues against the glass, which we thought was hilarious. When my grandmother saw that (she was always watching, no matter what) she started yelling at me, saying that I should be ashamed of myself for kissing a boy like that and that my father was going to be so mad when she told him (and she always told him.) Now I didn't know that sticking your tongue out at another kid through a pane of glass was considered kissing, or even anything at all, and I know now as an adult how harmless the whole scene was, but at the time I felt so guilty and so scared that my dad was going to be mad at me. I never wanted to do anything like that again. This story is just one of many that peppered my childhood, a microcosm of how I grew up. Always made to feel guilty or ashamed for things that I didn't even know were wrong, that felt natural or innocent. So with this type of upbringing, it isn't surprising that I started to have acid reflux and panic attacks as early as kindergarten.
My undue guilt and shame ran my life, until I was 15, when good ol' teenage angst and rebellion showed up to set me free. I started to do things I know my parents wouldn't approve of, hanging out with strange boys, meeting men off the Internet, thinking I knew what the hell I was doing. It was definitely an exciting time, but looking back on it now, it seems so insane, so risky. But when someone has been caged so long, been so repressed, it isn't very surprising. From this time on, there has been a constant tug-of-war between my 2 halves. Some event will happen to pull me in either direction.
The impulsive side of me wants to go out and run wild, basically. Be completely uninhibited and have to answer to no one, throwing responsibilities and consequences right out. At least once a year, I start to feel this way. I don't really know what brings it on, I can't really say. Sometimes I have these crazy, vivid dreams about off the wall experiences, some imaginary and some from my past, things I consciously didn't even remember. I don't think that commences it though, I think that is a by-product of the underlying feelings my Ego tries so hard to stifle.
My post is titled "The Saga of Love and Lust" because in my adult life, that is what I have come to equate these dualities with. It's some kind of ambiguous defense mechanism thinly-veiled as maturity. I find it hard to be passionate with things that I "love." It's like I file them away in this imaginary compartment, as if to say "Glad I got that taken care of." For example, I love cooking and baking and am pretty damn good at it so I went to culinary arts school (which took some serious convincing to get my parents approval I so desperately sought), and even though I excelled in all my classes, I couldn't bring myself to finish. I just had no drive. I still love cooking and just do it at home for fun, but there isn't this burning desire for me to take it any further.
On the other hand, the things I am passionate about aren't things that I would say I "love." It's like it is a completely different compartment in my brain. Things that I lust after, even trivial things, like a designer purse or the latest gadget, I just can't stop thinking about it until I get them. It's strange that I can be so nonchalant or complacent about my loves, but so forceful and enterprising about my lusts. And no, my love and lust isn't just reserved for hobbies and material goods, there are many actual persons that fall into this trap I've set. I'm just not ready to write about that quite yet.