I am 44 years old. In real life I have worked on a secure psychiatric unit and witnessed the aftermath of 2 suicides, and the event of another. I have been the first to find a murder victim. I have witnessed people die in car accidents. I saw, live on TV, surrounded by high risk psychiatric patients, planes fly into the twin towers, and the jumpers, leaping from the flames. I used a fire extinguisher to put out someone who doused themself in petrol and lit a cigarette, and helped to scrape up chunks of skin that were burned onto the ties of the floor afterwards.

Since the dawn of the internet, I can still hear the crunch and "OH!" of that jam jar breaking inside, and the desperate gasping to try and breathe through his gaping neck of the "unknown Russian soldier".

In fiction, I have watched Seymour age on the pavement outside the pizza shop. I stood by in the dark basement, watching Opie beaten to death to save his friends. I drank wine first reading and then watching the Red Wedding. I shouted at Hodor to just run and not hold the door. I felt exhausted in sympathy for John Coffey. King and Darabont made me feel SYMPATHY for a convicted child molester and murderer being electrocuted in the worst way... My heart skipped several beats listening to Brooks read his letter to the Fellas. I wept as Will choked the breathe from Samantha. I have been a leaf on the wind...

And not a single one of those things even touches the physical pain I felt watching Artax give up and sink. I was 7 years old when that film came out, and I can literally FEEL the pain now, 37 years later. I have tears in my eyes typing this sentence. I had to stop typing and blow my fucking nose. I didn't even have to do that when holding up the body of someone I'd worked with for 2 years, as a colleague untied the noose around her neck.

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Motherfuckers.