3

(Tuesday evening)
　
I watch the Homer3D episode of The Simpson again. The ending is exactly what it’s like when I remember all the way. I just have to hope I’m Him enough for my psyche to survive the brutal switch of it. If I stay here I will sleep instead of shift, I will know instead of think, I’ll be instead of try.
In a way I want to be held, in another way I want to be trusted enough to hold. I don’t think either way is wrong, as long as I’m brave. As long as I’m always Him -- an entitlement that hasn’t been raped out of me.
I guess it’s the same for women. No matter what they just want to remain Her, an entitlement that hasn’t been raped out of her or stolen by some man she trusted who turned out later to not be Him.
House’s psyche didn’t survive. His sexual abuse goes farther than he likes to talk about. He told me, while we were still in Iraq: _Don’t make me tell that part._ He gets high so he can feel himself again. But he has to stay high, so he adopts a pretend life, where he says what he has to, is who he has to be, so that he can be as high as possible as long as possible -- incidentally turning into someone who has to be take care of.
He said he wanted Real qualities like me, but then he realized it wasn’t necessary, so he chose not to.
I never saw before how suicide could be so appropriate. The only option now. I thought I would be able to kill myself at my weakest, not my strongest. Maybe this is the part where I’m seven, or eight, and I make the 25 years old deal.
R__ raped me because its symptoms of femininity and effeminate thinking would make people dislike me. I was so Him I could judge R__ from the moment I was born. I was so Him I instantly disliked him. I was so Him that Mom couldn’t help herself. I was so Him that all along it was R__ competing with me over Mom, A__, and H__. I just couldn’t make sense of it then.
R__ was the most evil man possible, and he’d done the most evil thing. Mom was the most evil woman possible, and she’d done the most evil thing. And I made it through anyway -- because I’m Him.
I had a good day at work, I thought it was fun, one challenge after another, matched without any anxiety.
When I got home I took sixteen pills.
The worst thing happened, the worst thing possible -- not death -- rape.
I feel like an ant. Or vermin. In my own little home burrowed out in the middle of nowhere.
I feel like I want to write a story. I want to write it all down so the path can be known outside of my own life. I want to build the best character (which is Him) and the worst story (the story of the House). And I want the two of them to reckon. And it’s great. Because Him wins.
Am I man enough? Am I Him enough? That’s what pisses them all off. Am I man enough to be violently raped as a boy over and over and over and over. Am I Him enough?
I feel like the ogre on Shrek. I feel like this house is my swamp and cave.
I just want to be Him again. I just want to be Him for a little while, hence I take more pills.
I remember the film The Hours. I’m not the viewer anymore, it’s like I’m in it. Right along side the other characters. I’m not Ed Harris anymore; I’m not the poet trying to figure it out through words. I’m wordless.
I tried to watch the show Parenthood, but fell asleep in the recliner. That’s what happens, I’m always so relaxed when on these pills I can drift to sleep in an instant.
Just like K__ could overseas.

__________