I said I would write about about The Walking Dead and I will. But right now I simply must declare my love for The Leftovers a show that kills me once a week.

Now, forgive me for a second, but I’m going to come off as a selfish ass and make this all about me. Ok? Ok. But it’s as if Damon Lindelof and Tom Perrotta sat down and said, “What is the general emotional state of Michele’s brain? What show will give the usual sorrow swimming through her head something to cling to? What will continue to haunt her for days?”

BAM! The Leftovers.

Even the title song by Iris DeMent haunts me. I’ve since downloaded her music and I listen to that song when I run, which does, at times, depending on the mile, make me weep like a baby. (I can still become very emotional when I run. Since 2009, not much has changed when it comes to that.)

The credits are such a perfect introdcution to the show. Yet alone they speak for themselves.

But what I love most about The Leftovers are all the secondary, subtle parts that take place between the bigger acts and all the main dialogue. The parts that, should you look away for a second, you will miss. It’s such a smart show, so layered and complicated. The Leftovers is a deeply personal experience where each viewer is given the opportunity to interpret the subtitles differently. And the actors and directors do such a phenomenal job making sure that that works.

So. If you haven’t had a chance to watch The Leftovers, and you’re looking to pair the woebegone you feel every day with something real (instead of just feeling that way because your brain is all wonked up—hello!), I might suggest The Leftovers. It’s troubling, beautiful, dark, painful and alive. And it gives you something tangible to hold onto on the days where the sorrowful undertow of everyday life leaves you feeling a little lost.

Go now and binge.