I am.

I should NOT be blogging when I want to get another 5,000 words done on my novel before I go to bed, but I left this on such a bad note last time I felt I owed an update.

One night, a little over a week ago, I was lying in bed, crying uncontrollably. I texted a friend who'd been gone for a week. I told him I hurt so bad. He asked what was hurting me, and the answer was...nothing. There was no cause, the pain just came, relentlessly, from inside myself.

Pain. That's all it is. I can handle pain. I get migraines, and I have to deal with them. I have a bad knee, and I have to deal with it. My fractured tailbone still hurts, and I have to deal with it. So why is it so hard for me to deal with this pain?

Depression is like a vampire. I can see myself that night, lying in bed while the monster drained the life out of me.

No more. I have a stake in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. If my depression wants me, it can try and take me, but I won't go without a fight.

I know that part of my improvement is from the Prozac, and part is from the love and support of my friends. But part of it is rediscovering the strength of my will.

I've got this.

Treading water.

I hate what I've become.

I'm back on Prozac because honestly, I don't want to live anymore. The endless cycle continues; my highs are awesome, but my lows seem to be getting lower and lasting longer. I cry all the time. I'm stressed, anxious, worried about everything. My stomach hurts all the time. I have nightmares almost every night. I don't enjoy...anything. I don't even listen to music anymore. My self-esteem is nonexistent. I feel totally and completely alone, even though I'm not. I want to talk about it, but to what end? It doesn't make me feel any better. I want someone to help me, but...how? There's nothing that will help. I don't even know how to exist anymore. Pretending I'm okay makes me feel more alone, but being honest about how I feel makes me feel like a burden. I'm starting to go numb. I feel like my inner self is curled up in a corner with her head down and her hands over her ears and all the negativity inside me is just a dull, muffled roar.

Tomorrow is the start of National Novel Writing Month. I'm hoping I won't have time to feel anything.

In Loving Memory

In the days leading up to PAX when I was starting to fret about shit like how I'd get back to the airport, DP was the one who kept saying "Just get here. Everything will work out." It was awesome to get to put a real person to my drunk-text buddy and the guy who (didn't remember that he) popped my WP Halo cherry. He's a really awesome guy to be around and I'd even go to Florida to chill with him.

That's what I wrote in my PAX Peeps Recap after my trip to Seattle in September of '10.

Chris Brown, aka D34THP1MP72 or just DP, was a staple of my gaming group, The WorkPLace. He was loud, crude, trash-talking, lightning-quick with a hilarious insult or comeback. He was also kind, supportive, and genuine. He was a blast to game with and always the first to assure me that it didn't matter how bad I was, we were playing to have fun, and have fun we did. He was a good friend who got me through some of my toughest times, either just by being there for me or in his own style of "Shut up, you're being stupid, everything's gonna be okay." He was a man who loved his friends and wasn't afraid to say it.

I'm so glad I went to PAX last year. Glad I got the chance to track him down at the airport and lead him to the wine bar to wait for the rest of the limo crew. Glad I got to laze around his hotel room with him and Pat Friday morning and, from the patio, bust a couple getting busy in the pool (at ten AM, seriously guys?). Glad I got to stand around outside the Taphouse with him Saturday night, entirely shitfaced, smoking and bullshitting with our friends. Glad that Sunday night he said that he hadn't been down to the Pike Street Market, so a handful of us went for a walk, clear out till we could see the sound. Glad I got a few minutes alone with him on the patio, smoking and talking about what an amazing weekend it had been and how much it meant to both of us to get to spend it with our friends.

I can't believe he's gone. I miss his voice, his sense of humor, his bitching and swearing. I miss him saying "No" for no reason, or strolling into a random thread and posting "I'm gonna have to lock this." I miss being on XBOX Live and getting invites from him for games that he knew damn well I didn't have. I miss my friend.

RIP Christoper Wayne Brown 5/23/72-10/14/11. Spartans never die, they just go MIA.

I know I'm not easy but I thought I was worth it.

I'm difficult.

I hate hearing about your exes in any context.

I'l get upset if you mention that you find another girl - ANY other girl - attractive.

I need frequent reassurance.

It doesn't take much to hurt my feelings.

I get insanely jealous and possessive.

I require a lot of time and attention.


I don't like that these things are who I am. But they are. And loving me means loving those things too.

I never liked math anyhow.

I'm not getting on the scale anymore.

I used to weigh myself every single day - well, every day that I worked - and that stupid number had the power to make or break my day.

I haven't run in about three weeks, first because I didn't have time in the days leading up to my trip, then because I was gone, and now because I've been sick since I came home. I miss it, though, and I'm hoping to get started again next week. And I'm going to restart the 100 Pushups Challenge - and stick with it - as well as the 150 Dips. And I'd like to find time to do Pilates again, maybe once or twice a week.

And I want to start eating more fruits and veggies, because they make me feel good. And the more good stuff I have in my tummy, the less room I'll have for chips and fries and bacon cheeseburgers and pepperoni pizza and chicken nuggets. But I'll still eat those things too, because I like them.

I know that doing these things will affect that number on the scale. But that's not why I want to do them. Nor is it about how my body looks or what size clothes I wear - another arbitrary and useless number! I'll be doing it for the way it makes me feel. Doing it so I become capable of things I'm not capable of right now. So I feel good and well and fit and healthy.

But I'm not a slave to numbers anymore.

City Museum

By far my favorite part of my vacation earlier this month was the half day we spent in St Louis, mostly because of the City Museum.

My friend Krista told me about it, or I might never have known to go there. It's like no other museum I've ever heard of. We arrived around 8 Saturday night and paid our $10 for the Museum At Night and another $5 for the Roof Atop The City. It was crowded, an odd mix of families, tourists, and drunk 20-somethings.

Our first stop was the Tree Houses - huge, sprawling networks of wood and metal, pieced together for your climbing, crawling, sliding, exploring enjoyment. I got dirty. I got sweaty. I tore my shirt. At one point I got stuck because I was too short to get from A to B, so Eric had to pull my hands while some random pushed my feet till I could get myself out.

Next we hit the Skateless Skate Park, but it was packed full of kids. We did find a circular maze, narrow passages with lower and lower ceilings that eventually had me flat on my belly, GI Joe-crawling along until I reached an opening I couldn't fit through and had to go back. We stopped by the Shoelace Factory and dipped into the free sample bucket before moving on to the Wurlitzer Pipe Organ display, Art City, and finally to the giant slide that led back down to the ground floor.

Next stop: MonstroCity, an epic sculpture/jungle gym/obstacle course of scrap metal spanning the front of the museum. Now, I'd already been pushing my body to its limits in the Tree Houses. I'm in the worst shape of my life - I'm almost 20 pounds overweight and all the problems I have with my knee make things like crawling and climbing very difficult. But now I had to push my mind to its limits; I'm terrified of heights, and suddenly I can see the ground two, three stories below me through the gaps in the metal under my feet (or hands and knees sometimes). The scariest part for me was the plane - walking out on the wing of a suspended plane to get to the metal slinky leading off the tip of the wing. I didn't think I could do it, but Eric pretty much told me I had to - so I did! After that it was hard to be afraid of anything.

Soon we decided it was time to hit the roof. There are two elevators, and we found ourselves waiting with a crowd of drunk people. When we got on one elevator, they tried to tell us it was the wrong one. We ignored them because...well, because they were drunk. Then one of them got on with us - and this guy was extra-drunk - and someone else followed to insist that really, our elevator would not go all the way to the roof. We switched to the right elevator. Their inebriated amigo did not, even though they were all yelling for him. The doors were about to shut by the time he caught on. "What the fuck, you guys?!" His friends yelled at him about his language, and he demanded to know if there were children present (there weren't). "You don't know these people," one girl said, "you're gonna offend someone." "Seriously!" I said, "I'm fucking offended!"

There is a park on the roof with a pond and everything, it's lovely. I was in a hurry to get into the schoolbus that juts off one corner of the rooftop. It was full of drunk, amiable Australians. I just wanted to sit in the driver's seat, which is sticking out over an eleven-story drop, and open the door (the door is blocked by a metal grate for safety) so I did. One of the Aussie's yelled "door's open, I'm off!" I got up to leave and another said "I bet if we all jumped, we could tip this off the roof." "Oh you wait till I get off before you do!" I cried, and got "That's what she said!" in return, much to my delight.

This is the best picture I could find of my favorite part - the dome on the roof. See the gratework to the right of the photo? It extends down the dome to a little ladder from the floor. I stood at the ladder and traced the path upward and out. "Do you think you can do it?" Eric asked. I said no - and started up. And I did it. Two thirds of the way up, as it was shifting from an upward climb to a belly-crawl, I saw a couple standing below, pointing up at us like "Holy shit, look at them!" I don't know that I've ever been so proud and exhilarated.

Then a hilariously awkward thing happened when we tackled this slide. We'd already done it once, and I knew I couldn't make it all the way to the top without using the rope, so I was waiting for a clear path to make my run. Eric was already at the top, since he has freakishly long legs and didn't need the rope. I was JUST ABOUT to go when a little girl cut in front of me, entirely on accident I'm sure. Once she was up I made my ascent, with some random fratboy type standing at the top of the rope yelling "YEAH! YOU GOT THIS! COME ON! YOU GOT THIS!" like a cheerleader on steroids, or Matt Foley. I got to the top and pointed out to Eric the little girl who'd cut me off, who was just about to go down the slide. "Now's your chance for payback," he joked. "Hell yeah! You wanna be first? BE first!" and I mimed kicking her off the top of the slide. But as the words were coming out of my mouth, the fratboy cheerleader was slipping in front of me to go down the slide, and mistook my little tirade as being directed at him. "Oh I'm so sorry, here, go ahead!" I just stood there. How do you tell a complete stranger that no, you weren't talking to him, you were making a joke about kicking a little girl?

Eric had no desire to ride the rooftop ferris wheel, but I didn't want to miss it so he grudgingly went with me. It was scary and a little nauseating, but so incredible to see St Louis all lit up below us in the dark.

Finally we rode the 100-foot slide (it was so fast that near the end I used my feet to slow myself) and - exhausted, dirty, sweaty, bruised, and exhilarated, headed back to Springfield.

I can't wait to go back.

HOLY COW LIFE'S TOTALLY GOING SO FAST!!!

It's been so long since I've posted here that I don't even know where to begin. Every time I think of all the things I have in my head and my heart, the prospect of trying to fit it all into words overwhelms me!

I don't want to do an enormous, sprawling, rambling, multi-topic post (although I'm sure I have in the past) so stay tuned for at least two entries this weekend.

Yeah I know, what a cop-out.