The picture is The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch. I'm still thinking about the incident last night, where a friend of mine lost it with some people who had hurt him, and my complete inability to cope with it. Munch's picture is an eloquent depiction of how I am affected by confrontation and hostility. The swirling colours are menacing and overwhelming. I feel that the figure is trying to scream but he's unable to make a sound; instead the sound is transformed into painful colours. I am absolutely terrified when there is a confrontation near at hand. If someone I care about is involved, I am easily reduced to tears, which is extremely embarrassing at my age. The mood affected my sleep last night, and I kept waking up with a tingling in my shoulders. I still feel it today. I expect it will stay with me for some days before abating. It usually does. Of course I will stay positive. Of course I value all my closest people very dearly, but I have to admit that I am screaming silently and desperately in my mind. My moods, like the colours in the painting, completely engulf me. How I wish I could do something to ease that poor man's anguish. I need to do something about my own too.
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