When people used to say things like, “Oh, I can’t WAIT for the fall TV lineup,” or “I have EVERY NIGHT’S TELEVISION SCHEDULE COLOR-CODED and in a GRAPH!” I’d do one of two things:
1) Wonder what a chart of pies would look like (rather than a pie chart).
B) Seethe in jealousy because WHO HAS THAT KIND OF TIME?
(answer: not me).
I started getting into watching television when I was pregnant with Alex, and everything – including the ice maker making ice slowly made me vomit, then cry, then vomit again. Dick Wolf lured me in Law and Order: Their Life Is Worse Than Yours So Suck It Up, Cupcake because, well, no matter what time of day it was, there were at least three episodes currently playing.
(when, much later, I got a DVR and tried to record some of the Law and Order: Fuck You And Your First World Problems, it wheezed, groaned, then laughed at me before refusing to record anything Dick Wolf ever created)
(sidebar: I cannot decide if Dick Wolf is the world’s perfect name or the world’s worst name. Either way, he’s a brilliant, brilliant man who should probably pull an Oprah and have his own television channel)
Eventually, I watched most of Law and Order: Being Out of Seasalt Is Not The End Of The World, and realized I needed another distraction, some way to turn my brain off from 11 to a nice solid 4. And, based upon what my friends were saying, I should try this House, MD thing.
It was there, through medical jargon I so desperately missed, that I found someone like me; someone who wasn’t perfect. Someone who had issues and bad hair days and wasn’t glitz and glam – someone who was broken.
Someone who was broken.
Someone who was broken like me.
House made it okay for those of us just left of center, those of us who are fragmented, those of us who fight to be normal, to be, well, who we are. House made it okay to use biting humor to mask my feelings because, well, some things are easier said while dripping with sarcasm.
He made it okay to be an antihero.
He gave me the strength to write things like this, things I’ve never before said aloud because they seemed too scary, too real, like if I gave them the airplay, my life might implode.
I’ve watched him painfully go through rehab, recovery. I’ve watched as he lost his mind, then found it again. I’ve watched him be brilliant and I’ve watched him as he fails. I’ve found myself crying, nodding because there was finally someone out there who was just like me. Maybe – just maybe – I wasn’t alone.
Tonight, House, MD, will run it’s finale.
Before I watch it, box of tissues in hand, I wanted to say thank you, to you, the brilliant writers of House, MD, for giving me a character who has helped me confront my demons. Who made it okay to be broken. Who made it okay to be weak. Who reminded me to keep taking that one step forward.
Who made it okay to be me.