18MAY2010
It's like there are two worlds - one in which I'm forever alone; a soul, shifting.
The other where I'm in that magic-carpet-place, in a physical world, intimate, loving, sexual.
__________
19MAY2010
There's no difference in the physical intimacy between me and a loved one and between me and R__ when he was raping me.
I hate that as a little boy I had a physically intimate relationship with R__.
Because I had been raped so many times it was confusing and I didn't know any better all the time.
I hate that vulnerability. Like the kids at the family cookouts, Bri__ and Cam__, so sweet, innocent - vulnerable.
__________
20MAY2010
How will you forgive yourself for all this inebriated behavior? I think to myself. I thought you were better than this.
I forgive by writing it out, by confessing it in my own voice, Respectful, Remembering. I am better when I deal. The volatility of it must be understood, its upsets forgiven.
These words keep repeating in my mind: I shouldn't be here. This isn't my Real life.
I woke up in the morning to go to work. I fixed a Gatorade bottle of vodka mixed with pineapple/orange juice. I sipped from it all morning. Thing is, when I'm inebriated, I'm not wordless. I loved wordlessness. I loved being free.
___________
(Thursday evening)
I took sixteen pills and got high.
So what is the third place I‘m in? Selfishness.
Except that it is against the self, selfishness to the point of being detrimental to the self.
A soul without a role. A powerful thing unless it’s lost in sheer imagination -- unrealness.
When I have sex it’s just like the House. That’s an unlivable life. But you’re holy, I think to myself .. I’m nothing like them. I’m studied, purified, up to the highest standard, my soul is surviving the shifting, I’m good.
My parents were Selfishness to the point of their own self-destruction. Numbed out, missing out on life. They’re not alive, they’re not souls, they’re not Real. Hence they could do what they did. I’m Real, and the sex I have is different than the sex I had back then. Maybe.
With imagination, story is alive. Without, it is markings on papyrus. When I’m sexual presently, I’m on the papyrus side. That’s where my memories are. When I’m working, studying, escaping Abuse, I’m on the imagination side. I get that now. I get why I went to the third place while being raped. The numbed out soul-without-a-role place.
Now when I see a film I see the difference between the character and the performance. Before I only saw the character and blocked out the logistics of it. Now all I see is the Real person and the performance. I watched Johnny Depp in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Two ends of a scale..
So the third place, the imagination place is not good. It’s where souls go to die. Pure man-made. Not Real. Pure Death.
.. So it’s holy. It takes imagination to understand that the soul is separate from the body. It takes imagination to see a world of holy instead of animals. It’s spiritual.
It’s that imperceptible space between each shift, that rush, that being born again.
__________
I had forgotten how in elementary school I used to walk with my head down, always staring at my feet. Mom said she was embarrassed to have me out in public sometimes. I wonder how no one noticed the little boy always with his head down. Then I remember Scruff on the bathroom floor and how they kept walking past him.
There’s a Reality to Time. The central focus of my life was surviving the House. It wasn’t: making friends at elementary school, studying books, learning sports, etc. I lost all those youth stories like baseball games, first dates, school dances, etc. I’ve lost that history forever. It was taken from me.
Meanwhile I didn’t know that so much had been accomplished in only twenty seven years. I didn’t know that mental work was work. I didn’t know that surviving was an accomplishment. I didn’t realize work was being done, the mind bravely thinking about something else while he thrusted. I didn’t know that wrenching truth out of a world of lies was like pulling teeth and exhausting, honorable work.
I didn’t know that what was on the inside was just as real as what was on the outside. I didn’t know the Soul was just as Real as the Story.
I didn’t know my feeling an emotion was just as real as the sheet of paper that said R__ was my father.
___________
.. CPT L__ s hands in the van. As he was articulating, he used his hands.
Except I wasn t drunk or high. I just understood.
I understood we were planets and the spaces in between were vast and immeasurable.
I understood he was long lost to Officer-hood and preprogramming and mental noise and Western Culture and not a Real human being with a Natural Soul.
________
(Friday)
Took 16 pills. This might be my regimen. 16 pills a day.
__________
I ve never been treated with Respect, I m not talking about the authoritarian kind. I ve been raped regularly as if the act were completely inconsequential. So I ve treated every thing else cheaply -- life, myself -- as if in retaliation.
Even while high or drunk I ll still catch myself asking myself: Are you okay? That s God asking, me, that s Him, asking me, that Me asking me, the Real me.
This is an A-sexual existence, like that of a nun or a priest. Perceiving and Experiencing the world clearly. Like a Witness, like a powerless witness. But I have power: diamonds between my legs, a Soul behind my heartbeat.
(sitting on the floor against the refrigerator) Is this just mental noise or is this progress? Where s God-I mean-Him-Me.
And there I am. I d never felt more alone, or more Real. Like in third grade when Jeremy asked me why I kept my hair so specifically styled. The rapes, turning me.
It s like I want to say I m sorry. I want to say I m sorry for touching Trevor and ending up killing him .. I m sorry for inserting myself into El__ when I was little. I want to be a good person. I want to be innocent.
It makes me angry sometimes because the only way I can feel and see myself clearly is when I look at myself with innocence. It makes me feel like everyone s been lying to me so that I would never realize what a diamond in the rough I was.
How was it that sometimes a person would like me? They would ve had to look deep deep to find the good soul underneath. I was like a walking crime. I was a walking tragedy. And I was the last to know.
The Souls jump out of the Who Knows place to Play. They know it s Role Playing, but it s still Playing.
I keep rubbing my legs .. This is the Boy, grown up. This is a young man’s legs.
A role doesn t imply destiny. We re always free. But I haven t been free the majority of my life. Maybe I could break free. I remember the sculptures of Buddha silently insisting that to me as I stepped through the Met. Break free.
As I lay down to go to sleep there it still was, like my brain was rewiring itself. I watched on the back of my eyelids due to the high. Little memories now seen with a truer perception, the opposite perception that the boy had at the time.
The rewiring has actually been going on for days and I figure will continue for days until the high wears off. The rewiring seems permanent, unlike the high.
__________
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