Angelic Self Pity

I've been accused of being moody. Actually, I don't think the few people who have dared to say this to my face were "accusing" me. . .they were just giving me some feedback. They were letting me know my moods, especially when they change suddenly, are hard to deal with. Trouble is, I find it difficult to hear feedback over this noisy angel of self-pity who sometimes nests on my shoulder. Not one of the more luminous angels, but an imaginative builder who flies out now and again to retrieve pieces of my past, pieces of my future (not sure how he manages that) and weaves them into a sturdy little nest close to my ear. For some reason, he never picks up anything from the present moment. Strange. He's managed to weave together every wound my soul has ever suffered into a very comfortable home for himself. Which would be OK, but he doesn't just live there quietly. He loves telling stories and gets most of his inspiration right from the nest itself. His favorite genre is historical fiction and most of his stories are quite entertaining. But I've learned from experience they are just ear candy, and provoke a kind of emotional hunger that never gets sated. It's aggravating and I don't exactly know why I allow him to live here. It's just that when people say mean things to me like, "Dude, you're moody!", I’ve found his stories a brief consolation that I’ve grown accustomed and perhaps even addicted to.