Sometimes I feel like I’m being carried along by the current of a turbulent cataract – now drowning, now gasping for breath as my head broaches the surface – overwhelmed by the relentless surge of my own thoughts and the sights, sounds, smells crashing in on my senses – unable to block any of it out, I am dragged down into a maelstrom of fretful anxiety – frozen and locked into a tense immobility as I fight against myself to regain some measure of conscious control over my body – unable to move as my muscles oppose their own motion, unable to speak as the words log-jam in my throat – caught on the cusp between shutdown and meltdown, trying to restrain myself from exploding into the irrational red mist of berserk rage – too agitated to withdraw into the soft oblivion of shutdown.

After some time has passed I either succumb to exhaustion and gratefully sink into restful shutdown or I expend my last energy erupting in a paroxysm of violent, undirected anger before quickly subsiding. Whichever route I take I end up drained and need time to rest and recuperate, to regain some strength. But at least there is usually calm once the storm has passed.