I get like this.
A mental thrashing about, tearing at the psychological chains that hold me back, a softly diffused anger permeating everything, insomnia, manic appetites and cravings, angst, disaffection, malaise, a perverse and cruel desire to be mean mean mean to those close to me. Times like this I hate. Me. You. Everyone.
So, I laugh really loud. A loud, head back guffaw. I can laugh louder than any of you. I can laugh longer. My laugh is so real. I am so much more happy than you could ever be. My laughter is so much better. You are so much less.
Three times a year I am like this. Maybe more. Approximately every four months as my four week cycle oscillates from manic to mopey. Almost like clockwork, some chemical calendar whose moods I can log. Emotional seasons. Winter spring summer fall winter, again. This is the winter of my discontent.