lyris

I have been feeling rather overflowing with emotion. It has stunted my ability to participate with the world in other ways, has kept me on the couch feeling only able to absorb this semblance of reality passively. I am still. The thought of yoga is daunting, though not in the weighted way of a person who has not recently exercised. It is the prospect of feeling and interacting with my own body that is so strangely frightening to me. And yet, Tango is still appealing. This is somewhat a conundrum, but perhaps it has to do with an idea of allowing a conversation to become an entity that no longer is just me. My art is difficult. I feel frustrated by my lack of ability to produce exactly what I want to see. And the time consuming aspect of my new choice of medium also poses problems for my apparent ADHD.

I spoke to a friend last night and realized it must be depression. Strange that I hadn't thought of that, given that most of my life has been measured by its severity. But no.

I cry a lot, though I don't feel sad. Every movie I watch, every television show, every dream. I feel overwhelmed by emotion of any sort and am brought to tears. Even watching someone play happy on tv is so moving; I feel my chest collapse in on itself and my spine round away as though I am trying to escape this onrush of feeling.

Children of Men made me bawl in the theater. The jerking sort of crying accompanied by little gasps for air. I wasn't even embarassed. I didn't have room for that emotion. Pan's Labyrinth was also moving and, in the end, I felt the weight of death, like a thick, heavy comforter and warm, and that, too, was overwhelming. I can't even watch the trailer for Persuite of Happyness.

I don't feel sad. I guess it's more that I don't know what I feel until I see it.