Moving On Up

Feast your gaze upon the new homestead
and the fearsome guardian hound they call Dakota!!

I am the Warden!!

The transformation begins. As of the moment I write this, we are a little over 48 hours away from taking possession of our new house and, more importantly, our new lives. This weekend alone has been a mad dash of packing, purchasing and perseverance with the calendar carrying on at such an incredibly slow rate, I'd swear a 32nd day has been added to March. 

All of this and its significance brought to light because of Timehop, the flashback app, reminding me how rough things were a year ago. Last March, I was dealing with depression and struggling to understand why the fuck Life hated my guts. Now, I actually walk around with my head looking up and forward, literally and figuratively. (I'm very serious about this. I've always had to walk looking down to see any tripping obstacles waiting to make the rest of the day painful. Another unexpected consequences of this injury.) 

Everything is available and yet so much remains out of grasp. I had a chance to take a long hike this weekend after a long time away from the woods and while it came with a price (not including sliding into deep snow and having to leave my Jeep behind overnight), I truly had time to think about my future. Thanks to some research, I know time will not always be on my side (babies have a nasty habit of requiring non-stop care, I hear), but there is time. I don't have to change the world or become a household name in any circle, I just need to do something that makes an impact in my life. And my family's life. If that means I also get to attend Gencon (wherever they hold it), publish a best-selling game, tour with an improv group, or anything else I've dreamed about, that's cool. I don't need it, that's all. They're bonus prizes. Maybe it's something that comes with achieving a base line in your life or standing atop a hard won battlefield after a long war. Whatever the case, it feels good to feel good. That's all I wanted to say. The fight's not over (it never truly is). I just wanted to take a moment and share this for everyone who has read my sorrow and worried or rests under their own burden of sadness and could use the slightest of boosts knowing that what they say is true. It never truly ends, but it's up to you to set your base line and hold it no matter the cost. 

With that, let me cap by saying I'm as busy as a jackrabbit building a church for the next 30 days. Unless I've already spoken to you in private about attending a game or working on a side project/freelance job, the answer is, "Not now, perhaps another time." For those planning on coming up on the 18th for Moving Day, the parade starts at noon and bring your own lawn chairs. 

It Doesn't Work Like That...

This post begins in the most compromising of situations, yet one where I'm sure most of us end up getting our news in this new age of social media. I was using the little boy's room, scrolling through Twitter to catch up on everyone's Gencon plans when it became apparent that everyone was talking about one of my icons. Unless you've just turned on your own phone, TV, or opened your eyes and removed sound-defeating headphones, you know exactly who I'm talking about and why.

After the initial shock of Robin William's death came the even greater blow - suicide. Since then, I feel as if I've lost a parent, an idol I've looked up to as a beacon of the improvisational mind unlike any other we've ever seen and may never see again. Perhaps were it not for the nature of his demise, had he passed away from old age or even from a condition we already knew about in great detail (he did have a history of heart complications), it would have been an inevitable conclusion to a tremendous life. Sure, it would be sad to know there would no longer be a new Robin Williams joke, but as the final punch line before leaving the stage as all performances must come to an end. This is not the end any of us were expecting and so grief is mixed with shock.

That's not why I'm taking to the blog today of all days. As much as I'd like to go into my favourite jokes, performances, and films (which there are many), my heart is filled with loss and confusion. I've never met the man. Save for one glorious night when I caught him performing live in Ottawa less than three years ago, he was someone who bounced manically across my TV and blasted out one brilliant joke after another from my speakers. Yet I feel like I've lost a deep connection to a kindred spirit. I'm at a loss and feel uncertain as to why I would feel this way about the death of a celebrity and artist. Perhaps this is what Elvis fans went through on their fateful day all those decades ago.

Perhaps too it is because his depression has now become blatantly apparent that I'm struck with his passing. As someone who's faced such demons personally and through those close to my life, this is the first time someone "close to me" has made the final judgement on their life and it's truly shaken me to the core. Here I sit at my desk, quiet and passive, unwilling to participate in casual conversation or basic interaction. I do what I need to do to get the job done before going home and... well, we'll just have to see where these emotions go from there.

It's remarkably easy to think that if only someone suffering from depression had expressed it sooner, we as a people could have done something to give them reason to push those thoughts aside and continue to be part of our lives. But it doesn't work like that. While I'd like to believe that if we knew what he had planned yesterday, thousands of us would have raced to his home, pulled him aside and hugged him, told him how much his gifts mean the world to us, and hope that this outpouring of emotion would be the key to unlocking his happiness. But it doesn't work like that. None of his positive elements - from his career to his family - were enough to quell those thoughts telling him he was unworthy of life. In his mind, there was only one rational option and it's one the majority of the world finds a coward's way out or an unfortunate end to a brilliant man. There were no warning signs, nothing to give those closest to him reason to keep a closer eye and an effort to correct those horrible thoughts. If that was the case, today would be another day with him in it and we'd be all the happier. But it doesn't work that way.

Perhaps that is what strikes me. The sudden disappearance of someone's spirit in the blink of an eye, one that was snuffed out by their own hands. And the fear that as someone close to another with severe depression, there is nothing you can do to stop them. Honestly, all you can do is provide your support, your love, your admiration and give them opportunity to decide for themselves. Perhaps what shakes my core is knowing this may not be the only day this feeling haunts my soul and that, when it comes down to it, there's nothing I can do except offer as much love and respect as possible. The rest is up to the afflicted individual; the choice is up to them.

There are a few facts about depression I do not adhere to and some I feel are misguided efforts, but we all deal with our burdens in our own ways. If medication is what aids you, all the more power to you. If it's emotional support, so much the better. Whatever you feel keeps your head above the water, it is the head that gives commands to the body to continue paddling. All we can do is encourage you to keep kicking. The rest is up to you. 

40

Today is my 40th birthday. 

Ugh. Let that be an indication of how I feel about today. 

For the past year, I've been dreading this day. Like, from the moment I turned 39, I've been mentally and emotionally prepping myself for today. If anything, today and the dreary build-up to it has probably played a significant part of my mood lately (duh!). 

Why? It's the halfway point of the ride that is Life. Odds are pretty solid that reaching 80 is not in the clouds (none of the men from either side of my family have hit that milestone) and 40 is pretty much when the body hits that marker like a marathon runner midway through the race. You see where you are at that point and time compared to the other runners and begin to evaluate what you need to do in order to catch up and overtake them. What seems to be bothering me the most is that I'm far back from the rest of the pack in what matters most for the last half of this marathon: financial security. To put it simply, I have $78 in my RRSPs, rent my house and have no investments or assets. And this is not entirely because of the accident, that simply pulled the last rug out from under me (my credit score, which is now about as low as a dung beetle sinking in quicksand). 

To explain this properly, let me give you the answer from a financial advisor I saw two years ago when I was trying to sort out my debt problems. I had no job, no timeline when I could return to work and owed quite a bit to some rather pushy collection agencies. "There's nothing you can do," I was told. "You have nothing to protect and nothing they can take instead. You can't even file bankruptcy. You have no option other than not paying your debts because what little you have has to go towards basic needs and support." Ouch. And that was two years ago. It's only grown mold since then. 

My wife and I have been talking about it over the past week since I admitted to myself (and everyone else) that I'm depressed and she had a theory on why that is. "You live in the now. If you don't like what you're doing, you just stop doing it." Hearing that spoken out loud by someone else is one of the revealing no-baronets that flicks on the lightbulb. It's something you know all by yourself, but smacks you across the face when it's acknowledged by someone else. And it's true: I've never done things with forethought and great personal planning. I go with the flow and see where it takes me. If I don't like the ride, I get off and take a cab home. 

What's helped over the past couple of weeks has been the direct recognition and offers of moral support I've received. And while I generally find Facebook birthday wishes hokey, it has shown something I've banked over the years: people who genuinely care enough to take the time and write or call to offer their support and encouragement. Something about that helps, especially today. 

Ok then. Let's splash a little water on the face, swig down some Gatorade and work on the last half of this race. I hear the hills get bigger when you hit the 50s marker. 

Weight of the World

Anyone who's used to reading this blog, catching the infrequent post here and there, or simply know anything about my work may have noticed one indisputable fact: I ain't written a damn thing on here in over a month. Yeah, it's been a while and like all absences, there's a reason. Maybe even several but they're all lumped into one category. Regardless of those reasons, it's become manifested in a near inability to write. Anything. Regular readers may notice something missing from the start of this post, a signature catch phrase marking the beginning of every other post every made on this blog because it just doesn't seem appropriate right now. Or any more.

I've been having a very hard time lately. Stressed, weary, and depressed. It seems the weight of the world has finally bore down on these shoulders that have endured so much low these past three-and-a-half years, leaving me with only two choices. Carry on as I have been for some time and push these struggles aside until yet another date or accept reality and do something about it. In a bizarre way, I've gone with a lazy version of the second choice and dumped a few challenges from my list.

My readership is low, so expecting everyone to know what's going on is silly. Even then, I've never truly shared my burdens and those of my family, instead willing to tease snippets and move on before anyone can poke and prod. Big mistake. I've been keeping a lot to myself for a while now and it's taken a toll, such as...

• The physical pain. Mild compared to what many others with chronic pain endure on a daily basis, yet still an issue nonetheless. Yes, there's medication but those come with side effects as well, from lack of appetite to riding the high and the following lows when you have to take a lot of pills. Winter has always been tricky with regards to pain as the fluctuating temperatures cause the nerves to fire up or slipping on a patch of ice tweaks my foot in just the right way to send me out of commission for the rest of the day. Mix that with bad knees and a propensity to lean heavily on my good (left) side too often and you have a glimpse of what's going on. 
• The cognitive issues. This has recently become a serious concern as my full-time job ramped into high gear during the ski season. Working in a low-traffic, average office setting started out well and I was rather impressed with myself for being able to operate - even thrive - in an open environment. Now that people have been moved around and this place has become a phone-ringing, conference-calling, power-meeting place-to-be for everyone in Front Office, things have become complicated. I've suffered five episodes of what I call "fuzziness," including one incident where my co-workers called 911 when I was passed out at my desk and was non-responsive for several minutes. By the time I returned to functional, the paramedics had already arrived to do their thing and I was done for the day. 
• The workload. Related to the cognitive issues, this is more about the number of things on my plate at one time and is also the area with the most control over my situation. In a given week, I had my full-time job at Calabogie, a part-time job delivering pizzas until midnight, freelance work writing for Xenopedia/Mercenary Breed, keeping up with house chores while my wife powered through her school work, taking online classes, rough designs for projects like Optional Core, walking the dogs, tutoring and finally trying to have some time to relax and re-power the engines. I'm a very task- and deadline-oriented person and failing to keep up on so many duties was doing serious damage. My schedule was so crowded, I had to bail on visiting my family for Christmas and I still haven't had a chance to see them for the holidays (they're only a two-hour drive away from us). 
• The financial problems. I've never been good with money. Something I said last month stuck with me and has become my new motto: "I've never had money but I've always had my pride." The accident brought on serious consequences to our finances, especially when I wasn't able to work for three years and had to support my wife with her own problems. (We're getting there, don't worry.) Money was always tight and the only means we had available were through the insurance company (who bailed after two years) and the still-ongoing lawsuit. Now that I'm working from the bottom of a new ladder and still struggling to keep up with our payments - including rent - all while busting my ass to keep up with these waves, money problems have become a major sore spot. To the point that I literally shake and feel chest pains when I see a bill in the mail or try to sit down and update our personal budgets. 
• The missus' medical issues. My wife has a serious form of epilepsy (she's also been unable to work for three years now) and depression. Before the accident, I was her rock and was able to keep the world immediately around her stable while she learned to cope with her recently diagnosed conditions. Since the accident, it all became too much for her and there have been problems I will not go into here. They aren't my problems to share but the stress of knowing I'm powerless to do anything about them is mine and I'm sharing that. 

Neither one of these takes precedence over another and they all intermingle with each other. For example, working two jobs to try and stay afloat increased the pain, which bumped up the amount of meds I was taking, leading to that shitty feeling and fogging up my cognitive functions, meaning I had to miss out on some work days and not get paid for those missing days. All of this has been reasonably kept to myself. No more. 

It all came to head when my wife received $4000 from OSAP (Ontario student loans) related to her school work. We didn't expect this money and our first thoughts were on someone screwing up. "Nah, can't be right. Someone will realize their mistake and it'll be gone in a couple of days." At that very moment, I freaked out and broke down. Like lying on the floor in the fetal position broke down. The straw that broke the camel's back. Or so I thought. There was another situation but, like I said, it's not my problem to share. 

There are a lot of people in the RPG community who battle depression and I think it's safe to say I'm one of them. It's not the first time hitting this brick wall and it seems to be a reoccurring challenge for creative types in general. They've been bold and made a point of sharing their issues to varying degrees of detail through blogs and tweets and I commend each and every one of them for taking the first step: admission. Perhaps it's time I did the same. 

In all honesty, part of me wanted to do the same years ago and be forward about my struggles but I listened to my lawyer and kept it to myself. Not that I'm a chatty person (I'm very quiet in the flesh unless we're talking gaming and game design, then you can't shut me up) but in my writing. I write because I can't express myself verbally the same way I can do with my fingers. But I was encouraged against such posts simply because it was all related to the lawsuit and I just don't give a shit about that anymore. I've allowed myself to become victim to a system that assumes more than assures and let the accident dominate my life, only to let me down and leave me out in the cold. I want to become my own man again and prove to myself what I'm capable of so fuck what I've been told. I've been a victim for far too long.

It's what I learned about depression long ago - you have to get yourself out of it. That's my take on such matters and not to be taken as gospel in any way, just what I've discovered about my depression. It's about perception and opinion with little to nothing related to fact. I have many reasons to be proud and happy - I won a fucking ENnie award for my first ever original RPG design and I'm married to someone whom I truly love and loves me just as much, if not more - but my opinion is that I've failed myself and those who count on me. Kind words, gentle reminders, and coaching from friends and family can only go so far. The solution is up to the individual. I can't be depressed while my wife suffers from clinical depression, that's what I tell myself. I need to fix myself so I can help her and be what she needs. It's not something I'm saying for her sake; it's for my own and it's what's prompted me to do what is necessary for both of us. A happy hubby makes a happy wife and vice versa. 

To that, I've made serious changes in my life. First, I took a break from all writing, including work on Xenopedia and Mercenary Breed (to which major thanks goes out to Aaron Huss from Mystical Throne, the publisher, for his incredible understanding and help with the situation), changed my part-time job to another one with less hours and better pay, started working from home once a week, dropped out of my online graphic design course, stopped tutoring (for now), and started enjoying time at home without chores, tasks, or duties. The missus has also dropped out of her course and that has taken a huge load off both our shoulders. We're starting to see the benefits of these choices already and there are more smiles in the house than there has been for a while. 

I am the Warden and I am depressed. I'm telling my story because it must be told, because silence only makes matters worse, and I want others to know they are never alone out there.

(To learn more about depression and its symptoms, I found this website to be helpful as a starting point.)