Movies: The Depressing Anti-Depressant

I have known something for a long time that I only just revealed to myself tonight. I am an obsessive movie watcher. Well, actually, that's not the revelation. Almost every night of the week I watch movies. But tonight, I truly felt myself let go for more than just a moment. While weeping quite painfully after watching Stranger Than Fiction for a second time, I came to a personally obvious realization.

Movies are my Prozac.

But they don't work THAT well. They give me the release that I can't allow myself in real life. And only while completely isolated do I give myself permission to release my torrent of sadness in the form of uncontrollable tears. I attribute this in part to being a man. It is traditional that men in civilization supress their depression and sadness for the greater good. The sanity of the world. In all honesty, I think that's a bunch of horseshit. I mean I want to NOT believe it. Except that I've never really been able to bawl. Not even when I lose the most important things to me. Except when I gave the Best Man speech at my brother's wedding. I think it was because I knew I was losing him. And I was also guilty for wrecking his car and almost dying in the process. But that's another story. I imagine that when my parents pass that I may not be able to control myself in the slightest. But perhaps I've now created a preconceived condition where it won't be possible to release for the actual event but again I'll have to medicate with the right movie.

Apologies, I digress. Back to the main idea.

Movies are the key to opening my darkest gate. They remind me of things I once had. And may never have again. But I keep hoping that is not the case. Please tell me it's not. Because I really want to believe.