slowly making sense of this

I used to spew out my abridged emotions in writing, and my blog was less a catalog of my consciousness and more a collage of thoughts that I fished out of my memory's surface. This is my first post since I started keeping a journal, which means this piece is unique in its categorical analysis of my current state of mind. I also have Grammarly premium now, and there will be no run-on sentences beyond this point.

I'm starting to make peace with the undulating quality of my mood. I've been pathologizing myself, thinking that I function in a less than ideal way, telling myself there is a threshold I'd have to scale to achieve the distinction of "normalcy." I've been doing this long enough to realize just now that this normalcy that I've sought so wistfully is pretty unfair. I've been resentfully holding my undiluted emotions in contrast to an image of the aggregate of the other. The other has always been fine. It's so large it's capable of making up for the occasional ugly part with something else. I see myself firsthand, up close and unfiltered. There's no balancing act in real-time. This whole time, normal for me, as an isolated sample point, has been defined by the oscillations.

That's where I stand right now. I am slightly put off by the fact that I have to deal with how things stand but have accepted the way they do. I don't make it harder for myself by channeling arrogance inwards for being this way, rather I just try to get along with it. Sometimes (most of the time), I'll just wait it out, see the world pass by, and I feel such a grave disconnect with the other that it makes me sad. I try to reason with myself by mapping a way out of this by fixating on what I want, but that's something I can't confront rationally. It's hard for me to tell what I want or if what I want is the best for me. How can I trust myself on what I want when, for all I know, the next moment I might oscillate to a different set of needs? Someone pointed out that I'm someone who knows what they want, but the truth is they can only see one side of the moon at once.

I've made progress; I'll give myself that. In the wordly dichotomy of haves and have-nots, I have enough haves to be, to an extent, content. This is definitely my rational side speaking (or writing). I've had to engage substantial mental resources to generate such cohesiveness, and the trouble is that such reserves are not always available. I despair not because I'm overcome by the have-nots that carve out a void in me but because I'm unable to meet myself halfway. To cover the distance back to that healthy equilibrium is not always possible, and it's emotionally expensive.

I write, not to remember, but to rope myself back on track.