Anyway, the depression got a little better after I stopped drinking, but I still have these moods. Black, interminable moods where all I can think of is what a rotten, worthless man I am.” “You start in on yourself,” I said. “Boy, do I ever. I’ll just have at me, call myself every name in the book and then some, go over and over all my failings, and show no mercy. You know, I can talk about it now like I’m talking about a symptom, but when I’m in it, I’m death. I’ll just brood for hours, even a day. I can still function, I can still work, but there’s this relentless voice carping away at me
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