A Post About...Something

It's a little funny that when I sit down write about something I'm passionate about...I can't think of anything to say. Maybe that's because even after playing WoW for a year now, I still find myself feeling like an absolute newbie. I've dabbled in a lot of things, and if you want to know anything about any starting area or how to play any class up to about twenty or so, I can pontificate at length. One of these days I'll probably make a toon of every race/class combo, just to say I have. I'm probably halfway there already.

[Oh hey look, <Censored> (no, that's the guild name, I'm not censoring it) just got realm first Heroic Deathwing. Grats to them.]

Anyway. Amusing story...the other day we pugged some people into DS for our weekly guild run. (By weekly, I mean, "happens every once in a while," and by guild run I mean "we started it with our four people.") I'm toodling along on my male belf pally (can you say "stereotype"?) healing the crap out of their (much more talented) butts, when I made some crack about my name confusing people. "Which one are you?" they ask me. Surprised that they hadn't figure this out after all my screaming about fire and standing there-in, I replied, "Uh...Matthew..." It was kind of like the time I was running on my druid Samuel through some dungeons with my husband (who'd named his toon Peterson) and called him "love." Okay, so it wasn't like that at all, since in DS we all had a good laugh, and in Deadmines I was called a "c***-loving f** with a d*** up his a**." By the way...people kind of need to grow up before they're allowed to play with others. Granted, with names like "Bigforeskin" and "Wettitties" I suppose I should have expected immaturity. Then again, since I pulled and left that group, I'm probably somewhat lacking in maturity as well.

Okay, now that I've successfully turned this post about...something...into a rant, I shall bid you farewell. Happy gaming!

Not Everything Is Bad

I was reading some old posts the other morning, and I noticed something good. I'm not hidden any more. The face I show to the world is as much the real me as I am in the depths of my heart. I have nothing more to hide. All those things I once masked have become public knowledge, for good or ill. And while some would use those things against me, as I feared, I still think this a good thing.
Another good thing that has happened: I have little to no pain left. While nowadays I may find myself facing despair and emptiness, that is at least somewhat better than despair, emptiness, and constant pain. I no longer scream and bleed from emotions too painful for words. To be sure, the memories are still there, but they have faded; they may bring sorrow, but no longer do they bring pain.
Life is by no means a bed of roses now. But it is infinitely better than it was.

We Wear the Mask

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, -
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

~Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

So Weary...

The other day I went online and took a couple of mental illness tests. And as I expected, most likely if I wanted to pay the money to visit a doctor, they'd tell me I was suffering from severe clinical depression. No surprise there. What did surprise me, or would have if depression left me enough energy to be surprised, is that depression has much less to do with being "sad" than it does with being fatigued. Being so bone-deep weary that you don't have the capacity to feel anymore is more indicative of depression than crying all day. That has been the case with me, certainly. Not that I haven't had those sad days, but for me, depression is more a bone-crushing weight of utter exhaustion.

So when I muster enough energy to clean a small section of the living room (we DO have a floor there, who knew?), or take the garbage out...it is a sign that maybe, just maybe, the darkness is receding for a while.

Etiquette

Allow me to go on a little bit of a rant about low level battlegrounds. Farming the other team because you happen to have a group tricked out in BoAs and they don't is not nice, it isn't especially fair, and it isn't honorable. I've been on both sides of this equation; just earlier today I chewed out the kitty druid who, being nearly invincible at level 14 with 900 hitpoints, thought it was fun to grab the flag and and camp the other team's graveyard. Having been on the receiving side of that more than once, I can say with certainty that the only person that is fun for is the one with the flag. Even their own teammates are unhappy with them. So, don't be that person. Higher levels, possibly that is a little more okay, although still not very nice.

One more thing, about any battleground at any level: berating your own teammates, or talking about how they (not you, oh no! never you) suck, or swearing enough to make a sailor blush isn't okay at any level of society, and it isn't okay in a battleground. Don't do that. If you wouldn't talk that way to your mother, why would you talk that way to anyone else's?

Oh Hai

I'd like to point out something about myself. I'm not a hardcore player. I wish I could devote that sort of effort and dedication to this game, but, put most succinctly, I'm too lazy. Also I like having fun, and while sometimes that means wiping on Ultraxion fifteen or twenty times...usually it doesn't. Usually I find the most joy in leveling (yet another) alt. In fact I wanted to name this blog something like "Altoholics R Us" or "Altoholics Anonymous" but somebody else had already absconded with those names. Nothing worse than finding out you weren't original, eh? Anyway. I will admit I have honestly no idea where I'd like to go with this blog. Possibly I will just let it be my WoW Journal...to that end, be prepared for an occasional rant or two. Like the pally healer in the Nexus today who wouldn't take Righteous Fury off. Or when people queue as DPS for Dragon Soul but order the ones that queued as tanks to stand down because they're tanking. Or just one more warrior tank (somehow it seems like it is always the warriors) that wants to sprint through the entire instance. Howsoever, there are plenty of things that I could go on about positively. Like the paladin who gave my little level 15 a ride from Silvermoon City to Ashenvale so I could get some lowlevel pvp gear (and by the way, there really needs to be better options for gear lower than level 60). Or even I myself who dropped about a thousand gold on some random person who had done refer-a-friend and was still sporting gear from Scarlet Monastery at level 80 (and btw, am I the only one who is supremely excited about the remake of that for Mists?).

Anyway. As you have no doubt figured out already, I tend to ramble. Howsoever, I feel like playing the game itself for now. So in conclusion...fear my undead army.

A brief farewell

Hey you. Yes, I'm talking to you, the one or two people that read this blog. I shan't be writing any more for a while, at least not here. I'm not at the point were I can honestly or truthfully write on a blog called "Strong through Life." Darkness Everpressing is much more honest, and that's where I shall be writing for the foreseeable future.

Sometimes I think Breaking Benjamin went poking around in my head for song material...

"Now the dark begins to rise
Save your breath, it's far from over
Leave the lost and dead behind
Now's your chance to run for cover

"I don't want to change the world
I just want to leave it colder
Light the fuse and burn it up
Take the path that leads to nowhere

All is lost again
But I'm not giving in

I will not bow, I will not break
I will shove the world away
I will not fall, I will not fade
I will take your breath away

Fall

Watch the end from dying eyes
Now the dark is taking over
Show me where forever dies
Take the fall and run to heaven

All is lost again
But I'm not giving in

I will not bow, I will not break
I will shove the world away
I will not fall, I will not fade
I will take your breath away

And I'll survive, paranoid
I have lost the will to change
And I'm not proud, cold-blooded, fake
I will shove the world away"
~I Will Not Bow

"Carry me to heaven's arms
Light the way and let me go
Take the time to take my breath
I will end where I began

Suddenly the lights go out
Let forever drag me down
I will fight for one last breath
I will fight until the end

Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's go to be?
Don't bury me, faceless enemy
I'm so sorry, is this the way it's go to be, dear Agony?"
~Dear Agony

"It's hopeless, the end will come and wash it all away
Forsaken, I live for those I lost along the way
And I can't remember how it all began to pay
I suffer, I live to fight and die another day

Fast I fade away, it's almost over, hold on
Slow, I suffocate, I'm cold and broken alone"
~Fade Away

"Here I lie forever, sorrow still remains
Will the water pull me down and wash it all away?
Come and take me over, welcome to the game
Will the current drag me down and carry me away?
Suddenly the light begins to fade

Hopeless, I'm falling down
Filthy, I can't wake up
I cannot hold on, I will not let go
Worthless, it's over now
Guilty, there's no way out
I cannot hold on, I will not ago

Silent I go under, I am not afraid
I can see the daylight shine and slowly drift away
Safe to say it's over, sink into the grave
There is nothing left inside but I am wide awake
I can hear the devil call my name"
~Hopeless

(this one is a little different, in that I don't seem myself saying this, but others saying it to me)
"Take a breath, hold it in
Start a fight, you won't win
Had enough, let's begin
Never mind, I don't care

All in all, you're no good
You don't cry like you should
Let it go if you could
When love dies in the end

So I'll find what lies beneath your sick twisted smile
As I lay underneath your cold jaded eyes
Now you turn the tide on me 'cause you're so unkind
I will always be here for the rest of my life

Here we goes, does it hurt?
Say goodbye to this world
I will not be undone
Come to life, it gets worse

Don't carry me under
You're the devil in disguise
God sing for the hopeless
I'm the one you left behind"
~What Lies Beneath

Free Write

"I don't want to change the world
I just want to leave it colder
Light the fuse and burn it all
Take the path that leads to nowhere" ~Breaking Benjamin

I have a goal right now, to write until I have no words left. That might be sooner than you'd think, since I can't seem to find any words to start with. Maybe some more Breaking Benjamin...

"I will not bow, I will not break
I will shut the world away
I will not fall, I will not fade
I will take your breath away...
And I'll survive, paranoid
I have lost the will to change."

I refuse to give in, I refuse to give up...how much will that refusal cost me? And while I'd like to say I'll never change, I think we all know how true that would be. All the things about myself that I have always wished would stay the same have changed, and of course the things about me I despise have remained. 'Tis the way of life, I suppose.

"How long can I fight this?
How long 'till I fall?"
"I can't run from the shadows
From what's in my mind
No matter how fast I run
I can't leave them behind"

I used to pray a lot. Sometimes, I even thought God might answer. It was the lack of any response on his part, ever, that first drove me from Christianity. Then, of course, the more I considered it, the more I became convinced of its falseness. But that was after I had already rejected it. Beforehand, I looked at a God who promised love, who called himself my Father...who also ignored every plea for help, who (being in control of and having planned for everything that happens) chose for my life to not only be utterly destroyed, but to stay that way for nearly a decade. I am still trying to rebuild it, in fact. People tried to write this off as man's free will - leaving me a God either unwilling or unable to intervene in the world. They like to talk of man's free will as if it is this inalienable facet of his being that is never (speaking in the Scriptural traditions, obviously) overwritten by an omnipotent God. The Bible itself shows that not to be true. And so I looked at God, and rejected him not because (at the time) I didn't believe he existed, but because I believed he did and was an absolute jerk. It was only after that, as I thought and read and considered more, that I came to realize that the Bible was too riddled with logical inconsistencies (not to mention its historical failings) to ever be a valid source for a true religion. Given that all we think of as "God" is based on the Bible, I therefore rejected that God (at least as I had been raised to consider him) actually existed. I'm not denying that there may be a Creator (or creators), or even something similar to what is currently called "God," but the God of the Judeo-Christian Bible is a myth.

I have the feeling I will take a lot of flack for that last paragraph. Fortunately, I don't care. This blog is, essentially, my journal, and while I am willing (and perhaps foolish) enough to share, I don't really give a damn what anybody else thinks about it. This is, of course, why I'm not allowed comments (unless I post this and forget to turn them off, in which case ignore this sentence), although you are free to email me.

You know what? Talking about the faith I used to have isn't really doing me any good. It isn't doing any harm, either, but it is pointless, just words on a page. Then again, I guess it serves the purpose of keeping my mind focused on something. That's kind of a losing battle, though, so I'll move on to what I originally wanted to make words about. Yes, I know this is already longer than most of my blog posts; it was just a really long rambling intro. Hush.

It feels odd to crack jokes when all I really feel capable of doing is staring at a blank journal page and then eventually (if I'm lucky) burst into tears. (In case you were wondering, I won't be lucky. Tears are, for the most part, a luxury I am not afforded. They tend to provide some measure of healing, and my depression does not allow that, not now at least.) But I keep writing year after year, in hopes that something will change.

I find myself forgetting that I had a few months (all to brief) where the depression was (for lack of a better term) in remission. It hasn't been that long ago, but even so I find it hard to remember what freedom tasted like, and what is this hope of which you speak? I was foolish to think that, for no apparent reason, a decade of depression would just up and walk away. I guess that is what hope is, though; foolish, and yet necessary, if I am not to go screaming off into the blackness that is my life and allow it to close itself around me forever. Although screaming itself would be an acceptable option if I had enough energy to even think about something like that.

This is where the Internet allows me to deceive you, by the way. It is a lot easier to inject a simulacrum of life into a written word than it is into real, face-to-face interactions. Sometimes people don't believe I am as depressed as I am because "your writing is so alive!" (actual quote) I find it hard to believe it myself sometimes. how can I sit here, desiring nothing more than to just stare at the wall, and indeed feeling capable of no more than that, and turn out blog posts and pictures and poems as if I were some productive member of society? I have no idea. At least I'm not alone in that, though. I have seen so much extraordinary art turned out by people in the deepest depths of depression that it is very nearly the rule, not the exception. Every one of them, however, would trade all the productivity away if offered the chance at hope and freedom.

Speaking of alone...I am. It is the only facet of my depression that I can take nearly full responsibility for. It happens every time. I feel the onslaught of darkness, and instead of turning to those who love me to help shore up what few defenses I posses, I withdraw from them. The motives vary by person...my love I don't want to hurt or worry, so I hide the darkness from him until it is too late for him to help and I cannot hide it anymore (yes, some small part of me knows this causes him more worry/stress in the long run, but depression and logic don't exactly get along usually). For my friends...well, the majority of them feel helpless in the face of my depression, and deal with that by ignoring it completely, so really, what would be the point of going to them anyway? I have one friend that is closer than most, and would feel okay asking for help...except that it is too easy to spread my depression to her, and I already lost her once because of it. So yeah, definitely not going that route again. So I'll deal with this by myself, and conquer or be vanquished by my own power.

I would be dishonest if I didn't mention another facet of depression. The blade. I have not returned to it...but I want to. And each day as I sink deeper into the abyss my resistance crumbles a little more. Because, truthfully, self-injury does work. It provides a release from the darkness (or the pain), lets you feel alive for a while. The problem with it was never that it didn't work. But are the consequences worth the "remedy"? I've already had the scars I posses used to deny me a job. The whole cutting thing reared its ugly head in our custody case, as well (although the way their lawyer tried to emphasize it just made him look foolish and was actually rather humorous). Granted, there are places I could cut where prospective employers would never see, and I do possess the ability to keep my mouth shut (no matter how rarely I actually use it). But that reasoning leaves out the intense pain it causes my beloved when I cut. I wish it didn't, both because I don't want to cause him any pain in any way ever, and because I do really want to cut. I wish he could let it hurt him less, but I know that if he did, it would be because he cared for me less, and I don't want that. So for now, well, I will continue not to cut. But there may come a time when there is so much darkness that blood red is more desirable than spending one more moment in the abyss. I hope that day never comes. I am terrified it will, because cutting is addictive and I will not be able to stop when I need to. But for now, well...I will fight on. Because, at this moment, Love is worth more than relieving the darkness.

And so I come near to the end of words for now. Perhaps today will be a better day. One can always hope. even if it is pointless.

"I am falling apart. I can hardly sleep, I barely eat, and each new day sinks me deeper... I am falling to that place where I feel nothing and I don't even care, half the time I'm there already... I haven't returned to the blade...yet. But it is calling to me; it asks me how long will I survive without it? And the answer is, I don't know. I don't know how long I can resist its siren song. It tells me no one need know; I could hide it well enough if I so desired... I'm losing my grip. I'm losing my ability to tell what is right and wrong, and I'm having trouble caring. So many thoughts are crashing through my head like waves, and I'm drowning. Help me."
Nearly a year ago I sent that in an email. It is exactly as true now as it was then. And if that email came after literally years of darkness with no discernible break, and I feel the same way now after only a few weeks, months at the most...well, let's just say I don't have a lot of hope at this point.

To: feartodoubt. Love: Threnody

Hello there, feartodoubt. You mentioned finding my blog and reading it. I hope you find this. You may be searching for answers; at this point I don't care. I despise you. Why? Because you used my illness as a weapon against me. You turned my depression into an estimation of my worth. And that is not okay. That is not acceptable. Perhaps I was overconfident when I declared I had emerged from my depression. Or perhaps I just let myself hope too hard. Be that as it may..."it sounds to me as though you had lost"? Lost what? A struggle against depression? Perhaps. My battle against SI? Not yet, I haven't. Perhaps a better question would be, what is there to win? Is this a race, a contest? Is it even over yet? I would venture to say no. No, this is a war, and while yes, I did emerge triumphant from a years-long battle (however brief the armistice was), and also yes, I am now losing a months-long fight...no, this isn't the end. So please save your judgment of the worth of my arguments based on my disability for another time. That is to say, stop judging my arguments as an exChristian based on a mental illness I cannot control.

Thanks
~Threnody

Afraid of...sleep?

I fear sleeping nowadays. I don't really know why, but I face each advent of sleep with something akin to terror. I don't know what I think will happen, just that it must be avoided at all costs. So I've stopped sleeping, for the most part, this week. I only lay down when I absolutely cannot function anymore, and even then I lie awake as my brain tries desperately to fight...what? Since this is usually about the time my son is getting up, I tend to not have the chance to sleep deeply or long anyway, which is okay with the part of me that is irrationally terrified of a necessity.

The fun thing about depression, though, is that it feeds on tiredness, on weariness. So while I am busy saving myself (from what?), I am in effect opening the gate for the darkness to just have its way with me. I can't win...but then, in dealing with depression, so few can. I am so tired of fighting the darkness, of trying to outrun it. It is going to come no matter what I do...would it be so horrible if I just let it? Even the darkness and emptiness would be better than the fear and utter weariness I stumble through now, wouldn't it?

What can I say...

...the servers were down for maintenance.

Sometimes I wish I could cry

Found on the Cheezburger Network

I found this comment randomly on the Internet. It was in a reply to someone stating that most major wars in civilized history were started by religion. I don't agree with everything he/she/it has to say, but I found it worthy enough of reflection that I will post it here for further inspection.

You need to clarify that statement. Wars, yes, I could actually buy that as a legitimate argument. An actual declarations between sovereign nations over economic disputes…yeah, I can see that. I tend to disagree because the exploitation of religion is easy to use as a means to an end of economic gain (such as the claim that slavery was condoned in the Bible -which it is- making the cession from the Union a necessary act to preserve the institution of slave labor, ensuring continued economic prosperity at the expense of human life.)Mass conflicts resulting in violence and bloodshed? Not even close. The Israelis and Palestinians aren’t just “fighting” and “killing” one another because they can’t decide in taxation issues. In Ireland, Catholics and Protestants are bombing one another because they are upset over a new tariff. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the Holocaust, the European abuse of natives (multiple continents), the war on terror, slavery, the conflict between Sunnis and Shiites, and on and on and on.Maybe it is still for economic gain, and religion is being exploited by those in control for profit, and undermining the true efforts of whatever faith is actually being discussed, but it can not be denied or ignored that the bulk of human suffering and misery, now and throughout history, can be traced to, at the very least, the perversion of some religion, somewhere, in order to justify rather abhorrent and evil acts of atrocity.Find me someone, somewhere, willing to fight, kill and die for something they don’t believe to be right. Then ask that person if their determination of what’s “right” or “wrong,” their own personal morality, doesn’t stem from their faith and their religion. Then put the two together and see just how culpable religion is when it comes to war and fighting.

A new direction, perhaps

You really shouldn't let me have a straight edge

This Journey Is My Own

I love to help others. In fact, more than once, I have gotten myself in trouble trying to help someone else. If someone is hurt, or scared, or confused, or trapped, I will do whatever I can to fix their problem. I think that is part of the problem I find myself running into now. I want to help people escape the trap of Christianity. And so I try to argue, to fight, to convince them to find true freedom. But I forget, that isn't why Lalaith and I started writing this blog. We started writing it for ourselves, to make a record of our journey into untwisting the tangled web. That is why no one outside ourselves saw it for so long; it wasn't written for your benefit, but for ours. 

Sure there are inconsistencies. But I don't need to defend them to you. If you would be so kind as to point them out (using quotes if possible), I will try to address them. But not to satisfy you, no. I will face and overcome contradictions and inconsistencies so that I (not you) can look myself in the face with confidence. To be perfectly honest, I don't care if you think I'm wrong, inconsistent, contradictory, or even mentally unbalanced. The opinion of people on the Internet (that I don't even know) matters now a whit to me. Because (to repeat myself, in case you didn't catch it the first time) I'm not writing for your benefit. I'm writing for mine, and for Lalaith's.

I hope I am being clear. Varda's whole blog has taught me that things I say can and will be completely misunderstood. (I guess as long as she isn't praying for my death, I can deal with it though.) It isn't that I won't listen to your arguments, or consider what you have to say. I'm not saying that your words will never have an effect on me. Just that I honestly don't care if you hear all I have to say and think me (at best) wrong or (at worst) a liar.

I will continue to write. I will continue to post. And I will continue to take your words into consideration. But this journey is my own, and I will travel it as I see fit. You are welcome to come along for the ride...but I am undertaking my own liberty, not yours.