I am in that mood that sometimes claims me, lonely and abject and liable to start needling and provoking in a wrong headed bid for reassurance that I am not the wretched soul it feels to me that I am in this moment. This mood, the one that sits in my chest choking off my air, originates within me, not without, and so I alone am responsible for containing it, riding it out. I have let it run amok before, unleashed upon those in closest proximity, with disastrous results. So I am trying to stay conscious this time, to manage it, rock with it, let it leak away.
I called my friend. I told her just how I am feeling, how this mood has caused me problems in the past, problems that remained long after the mood, the abject miserable piteous self-loathing, had run its course, leaving in its wake new and concrete reasons for pain. She said, Well it's good that you recognize what you are feeling and maybe you should write it out to help you get beyond it sooner. So I am. I am writing it out.
Riding it out in that way.