Trees and Sky

Many many years ago I started to get an inkling that there was something not quite right going on in my head. I had always been somewhat of a melancholic bent, but this was different - scary, unsettling. The Depression (which is what I was finally diagnosed with, but only after they could attach the Post-Natal bit to explain it all away) manifested itself in an inability to watch (or read) anything vaguely confronting or thought-provoking.

I. Just. Couldn't. Cope.

The last arthouse film I saw before collapsing into a pit of unchallenging chick-lit blancmange was Sister, My Sister. Pretty awesome movie, but unrelentingly bleak. Maybe it was what tipped me over the edge?

Before that, I'd been your typical Arts student - eschewing the blockbusters and seeking out quirky independent arthouse films. I'd even go along by myself, submerging myself in the experience. I could disassociate from violence and extreme themes, I could protect myself. But then that ability started to falter and movies would stay with me for weeks, haunting me, paralysing me.

So I stopped going. At least I recognised what I needed to do, even if it was reactive rather than proactive. It was another few years before I finally saw someone, and that was because my illness was no longer a social inconvenience, but a debilitating, crippling disease.

[Insert Passing Years montage]

I think I'm finally getting better.

Last night I went to see The Dead Girl. It had been reviewed in the SMH Spectrum and looked ... interesting. It looked challenging, but I felt strong enough to cope. I'm sick and tired of missing out on excellent films because I'm too precious to deal with the fallout. The RevJen came along to hold my hand...

It was pretty bloody amazing. Beautifully made, and yes, very very confronting. The title really says it all. It's all about violence against women, and how different women cope with the impact of a single act of senseless violence. Bleak but powerful.

I was sobbing through one of the vignettes, but was able to pull myself together. I was able to sit down with a coffee afterwards and discuss all the issues it presented. Poor Jen hadn't quite known what to expect - I don't think I'd conveyed to her what the film was all about, so she was a little ... shell-shocked to say the least. And worried about me. But all was well. All IS well.

I can see the trees and the sky and things aren't as f*cked up as they were.

This is a Good Thing. I'm home again.