fitching – v. intr. compulsively turning away from works of art you find frustratingly, nauseatingly good – wanting to shut off the film and leave the theater, or devour a book only in maddeningly little chunks – because it resonates are precisely the right frequency to rattle you to your core, which makes it mildly uncomfortable to be yourself.
Good is relative, I guess. Maybe things are so well done that you can’t handle the imagery?
I’ve found myself fitching while trying to watch Crash many years ago at home. My wife was captivated, but I had to get up and leave the room. It was far too real, and too possible for me, and I couldn’t handle it.
That has stuck with me, and I’ve avoided certain films or books since then.
From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows