Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Lesbianism, Masturbation, Rape, and Gillian Anderson (Agent Dana Scully)

ALL of my X-Files books

Method of Disposal: Donate. I know. I know. Should I really donate all my old, over-used X-Files books? Is there anyone out there who would want them or am I just wasting some person’s time who has to unpack them all? I cannot help it. I cannot throw them away, and I am convinced a nerd like me will meander into the thrift store, find them, and proclaim that day as the luckiest in their life. I am. I told you, I cannot help it!

Weight: 21 lbs and possibly some tears. Please note that when stacked up they are almost the same height as my pit bull.



I am donating my entire X-Files book collection--at least I hope I found them all. I have been collecting them since mid-1990, and they have lived with me in a variety of different places. They have been hidden away in condos, pushed aside in apartments, and—surprisingly—put on the main display bookshelf at my current house. They are episode guides, Gillian Anderson biographies, a complete set of young adult books, and so and so forth. They are fiction and non-fiction. They are mostly awful and some are, secretly, really good. Or they were ten years ago.

I feel a special affection for the X-Files still. I believe it to be my first full-blown obsession. It is strange since I rarely watch tv, hate almost all television series, and struggle to overcome my disdain for most science fiction. Except when something catches me off-guard, as it does from time to time, like the X-Files. I am into the X-files because I find it entertaining, but I also have key points in my life that are tied to my fascination. I will tell you just a few.

Gillian Anderson not only helped me realize I am a lesbian, but she also helped me discover the joys of masturbation—through no fault of her own, of course. I was in the bath one day when I was a “pre-teenager”, and I thought about something I had done as a young child that felt really good. I tried to remember exactly what it was and, as I was figuring it out, here comes Agent Dana Scully waltzing into my brain. I had a fantastic orgasm. Got out of the bath tub, put some puzzle pieces together, compared those pieces to other pieces of my life at the time, and made two of the largest and most important realizations I had ever made and possibly ever will make. I love that woman to this day, and I will love her when she is much older, wrinkled, and beautifully-aged. I am loyal to her for always, despite the fact that I do not know her at all.

I also learned that while I have no desire to turn on the television I have in my living room I can watch The X-Files for days on end, weeks even, without a moment of boredom. I have the complete set of DVDS, which I do not plan to give away. I had surgery on my nose the summer in between graduating from high school and going to college. It had been shattered by a stranger at the neighborhood pool several years before. He did not like that I was a lesbian and, though he was several years older than me, he took it out on my face. The recovery period was a month with no heavy-lifting and no masturbation/sex. It was awful. My only saving grace was the pain medication and the constant X-Files marathon I had going.

At the end of my senior year in college I was raped by a stranger and had to go to the emergency room for a rape kit. As the doctor performed my pelvic exam and as I waited and waited and waited for a number of tests, words, and questions I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted on television. I did not care, but the friend who brought me turned it on anyway and there she was. Agent Dana Scully. I laughed. I watched it until we were done, and I was allowed to go home. I remember being so happy that life was like that or at least tv was—with all its reruns. I felt transported.

What is even sadder is that I can think of a couple other moments where The X-Files played some role in my life, but I have listed the important ones. I have embarrassed myself enough. Except I am not that embarrassed, not really, just loyal. Loyal, amused, and sometimes in love.

These books weigh 21 lbs when set on a scale. Before this entry, all of the books I had let go of only added up to around 30 lbs. I have almost doubled my number. I am sad to see them go, but I am trying really hard not to think about it anymore. I can feel myself starting to change my mind, but I won’t. I am determined.

No comments:

Post a Comment