Yo.

It’s been dif­fi­cult to write late­ly. Sometimes I peruse oth­er peo­ples’ blogs, note their wit and style, and wish I could write as inter­est­ing­ly as they do. Then I remem­ber that I only write for myself any­way and that it does­n’t mat­ter if I sound bor­ing or pre­ten­tious. Nevertheless, my writ­ers’ block has par­tial­ly been due to the fact that I’ve been expe­ri­enc­ing some odd mood swings. It’s not even so much due to the ephemer­al nature of my emo­tions, but more relat­ed to the fact that I don’t under­stand what I’m feel­ing.

Some things make me hap­py. Some things make me depressed.

I think I’m most­ly just con­tent, which is a feel­ing I’m not quite used to yet. It’s almost as if I’m float­ing in a pool of luke­warm liq­uid, unsure of what my sens­es tell me. All I know is that my dys­thymic phase has long left me. For now, I have resigned myself to expe­ri­enc­ing such emo­tions with an open mind, with the hope that I will some day under­stand them.

I remem­ber want­i­ng to keep my emo­tions in check a long time ago, want­i­ng to become a com­plete­ly cere­bral per­son. Nowadays, I’m not so sure that this was such a good idea, not that I’ve been able to ful­ly suc­ceed in such a mon­strous task. Perhaps a bal­ance is need­ed in some­thing such as this as well. A lack of emo­tions may cause a bet­ter appre­ci­a­tion for the few emo­tions one expe­ri­ences, or vice-ver­sa.

My ratio­nale has changed on this because my expe­ri­ences have changed. Growing up in a chaot­ic world of con­fu­sion and pain, I want­ed an emo­tion­al bar­ri­er to pre­vent any fur­ther men­tal agony. Now, I’ve accom­plished more, loved more, been loved more, and felt more. Perhaps I now feel that hap­pi­ness is worth the pos­si­bil­i­ty of men­tal anguish. Sometimes it feels as if I’m wait­ing for a ter­ri­ble inci­dent to revert my views. Life, how­ev­er, seems to be get­ting bet­ter.

I just wish I knew what I was feel­ing.