Last night my brother went shopping for movies. Came back with some real charmers: Jaws 2, Diary of the Dead, Alien Apocalypse. He insisted that we watch The Butterfly Effect. He seemed certain that I would like it.
Afterwards I gave a few thoughts, wished everyone goodnight, then locked myself in the bathroom so I could cry.
Well, I say cry. I don't actually cry any more. What approximates crying for me. I don't actually remember most of it. Pacing back and forth, breathing fast, scratching at my neck and pulling at my hair, sobbing painful words until my legs buckle beneath me. When I woke up half an hour had passed. I was so weak I could barely stand. I did not sleep that night.
To be expected, I guess. Ten minutes in I'd started to feel sick. A film about suppressed childhood memories, what did you think would happen? Parts of it touched me deeply, in the sense of punching an open wound. I love my brother but sometimes he's painfully insensitive.
1 comment:
oh yeah, butterfly effect *would* be a tough show to watch. but you know, this is the way it's going to be. sooner or later you're going to have to face those unpleasantries, to put a nice spin on it. i don't know... you can approach them knowingly and deliberately, or they can approach you unawares. it's a choice, but it's not a happy choice.
Post a Comment