First Reveal

The good thing about my roommate is that he's so full of energy and very outgoing. He's a talker, always will be and I feel that its something about him that will never change. He's always got something to say, which for me is good because I'm always ready to listen. We're opposites living under one roof and its working. And, we're only roommates.

But there was one night where I had to talk. And as anyone who truthfully knows me will tell you, thats not really something I do. Heck, I'm sure the ex will tell you passionately that its something I don't do. And I can't help it, I live in my head. And my head is a train of thoughts continually passing by one by one to reveal thats its not on one set track, but instead is apart of a web of thoughts that I find myself consistently trapped in. And all thoughts are usually tirggered by something else that will lead to another and another and before I know it, I'm in a spot and I can't remember how I got there. And well, such an event occured.

The trigger; and epsiode of Queer as Folk, season 2.
The result; me thinking so much it got to the point I where I feel asleep on the couch.

Roommate gets home, harasses me that yet again I'm sleeping on the couch and all I can reply is "what? I was thinking." Here on in, as I lazily stumble to my bedroom, we continue on what seems to be the usual banter of the days going ons for each of us; only this time its only him talking. "So what were you thinking?" he casually asks.

"Nothing" I reply in hopes that he'll leave it alone.

"No no no," he continues, "you said, you said you were thinking. I want to know what it was."

Any time that thinking along makes me sleep, then trust me when I say I have no energy to go through it all again. And so, I grab the journal I had just written in (I write down thoughts in hopes of ridding myself of them), open up to the page and give it to him. Cause he asked, and I have no problems of him knowing, I just haven't the energy to say it. He grabs it and starts to read as I continue back to my bed. And silence ensues as I wait to hear what his reaction is.

"You serious?" he asked while in the bathroom (taking off his contacts, just felt I need to clear that up)

"Yes." I reply, not taking my head off the pillow. He walks into my room, still reading the journal.

"You took a bat to the back of your head when you were 14?"

"Yes."

From here on in, he sits on the floor of my bedroom near the doorway and asks numerous questions. Suddenly he knows that I was beaten by 5 twenty somethings simply because I'm native. And that being gay had nothing to do with it. Suddenly he knows that I lost my memory that night. Suddenly he knows that the 5 guys who did it, will get away with it. Question after question he learns more and more.

But one question has stuck with me, as it was one of the first ones he asked. "How does one get through that?" ...

I still don't have an answer. Its memory, of what I do remember. And it will always be there. There will always be triggers to revive it. All I can do, is know that it happened.