Sensitive.
I’ve always been a pretty sensitive person. And not selectively sensitive, either. If something is orchestrated to push my buttons, pull my strings, or eke a reaction, at least six times out of ten I will give that reaction (especially if said orchestration involves tears of joy or sadness). I cried at David Copperfield when they played the theme from Dragonheart. The Ring made me want to die (please see here). These are just prime examples of what a non-discretionary person I am.
Lately, though, it’s been twenty times worse. It’s been like having some sensitive dial turned up somewhere on my brain, from “high” to “are you kidding me with this”. Nicole has a theory that Macbeth has had something to do with it, that I’m just high-strung because of the subject matter of the show and because it’s meant to be cursed and everything. Macbeth has always given me the creeps like no other play has, but I thought I was doing fine with it… even during rehearsal when Jeff got his arm slashed wide open and there was a lot of blood (copious amounts of blood, to the point where I believe I remarked that he was being overdramatic and could he just stop bleeding, for the love of man). Mark the oversensitivity.
Commercials for remake of The Amityville Horror literally turned my stomach. Reading Susan Gilman’s account of her visit to Auschwitz in Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress… I sat on my bathroom floor and cried. Discussing small doors (which I have a fear of, courtesy of The Sixth Sense) with Nicole at three in the morning sent chills down my spine until I had to burrow under a blanket and make sure that no monsters could eat my arms. The cold steel of Ryon’s knife on my throat at rehearsal makes me clutch up a fist involuntarily, knee-jerk reaction, a shudder that I suppress as quickly as I can. A spider on the wall is enough to send me into convulsions, choking and gagging as I shove my computer chair away from it and beg the Boss to kill it, quick, and I can practically feel its little legs all over my skin.
I don’t know what any of this means—that maybe my imagination is overactive or that I am just ridiculous, but it is massively screwed up.
Lately, though, it’s been twenty times worse. It’s been like having some sensitive dial turned up somewhere on my brain, from “high” to “are you kidding me with this”. Nicole has a theory that Macbeth has had something to do with it, that I’m just high-strung because of the subject matter of the show and because it’s meant to be cursed and everything. Macbeth has always given me the creeps like no other play has, but I thought I was doing fine with it… even during rehearsal when Jeff got his arm slashed wide open and there was a lot of blood (copious amounts of blood, to the point where I believe I remarked that he was being overdramatic and could he just stop bleeding, for the love of man). Mark the oversensitivity.
Commercials for remake of The Amityville Horror literally turned my stomach. Reading Susan Gilman’s account of her visit to Auschwitz in Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress… I sat on my bathroom floor and cried. Discussing small doors (which I have a fear of, courtesy of The Sixth Sense) with Nicole at three in the morning sent chills down my spine until I had to burrow under a blanket and make sure that no monsters could eat my arms. The cold steel of Ryon’s knife on my throat at rehearsal makes me clutch up a fist involuntarily, knee-jerk reaction, a shudder that I suppress as quickly as I can. A spider on the wall is enough to send me into convulsions, choking and gagging as I shove my computer chair away from it and beg the Boss to kill it, quick, and I can practically feel its little legs all over my skin.
I don’t know what any of this means—that maybe my imagination is overactive or that I am just ridiculous, but it is massively screwed up.
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