this was a long time ago and i have told it maybe three times...
i had set myself a working for a night with no moon. dark room, a long breathing practice, no food since the morning because an old forum post said hunger sharpens the edge. i had a goal and a name to call and nothing at all for afterwards. no time it would end. nobody who knew what i was doing.
it went further than i meant it to. i won't describe the middle, partly because i don't trust my memory of it... what i can say is that around three in the morning i could not tell the inside of my head from the room, and i was frightened in a way that had no floor.
i rang a friend. she didn't ask what i'd been doing. she came over in her coat and pyjamas, made toast, opened a window, and sat on the end of the bed talking about her sister's wedding until the birds started outside. that was the exit plan... someone else's ordinary story and a slice of toast.
by morning it was just a night. a bad one. when i wrote it down that afternoon, most of what had felt enormous would not go into plain words at all, and the parts that would were mostly about being hungry and tired and alone.
i still do the strange work. i eat first now, and someone always knows the hour i start and the hour i mean to stop.
if you're planning something tonight... who knows, and what time is it supposed to end?