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this abhor inside me is ridiculous, a feeling like i should just abdicate

i come across as normal, but what is the definition of this as such?
one day someone told me i was pulchritudinous, the next i was a feint memory
nothing seems to make sense

stuck in a swaying momentum of either emotional extremes
for either myself, towards myself or to those around me
so i try preoccupation,

'Occupy our minds and labor our bodies,
And we feed our pleasant remorse'

but nothing seems to suffice, i do not have problems, nor troubles
i have insecurities and uncertainties, sin and avarice

to be caught in a pretentious whirlwind of infatuation seems almost as
far as the universe could take me, or dim as it portrays
and i don't know if i want to be happy, or if i'd like to be happy for someone who appears overwhelmed with myself

is it selfish to say i would feel better just to have a constant interaction
with that of whom i feel wholly comfortable and adored