Finding My Way

One of my teachers told me once to "write when you're mad, write when you're sad, write when your heart is broken and ground to dust. You'll never write better than when your control is gone." How very true. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I'm moving back home. And I'm transferring within the same agency, so I get to keep my job. (yay) Anyhooos.... Some one I long counted as a friend decided to take his chance (since I'm leaving in 2.5 weeks) to spread all kinds of shit about me. Rumor mongering. I hate it. I hate it so much. No one told me that high school was gonna be forever. Why is this shit still happening? How damn hard is it to treat people nicely, to be a decent human being? How is this hard? Do unto to others and all that, I know we've all heard it. No excuses. No justification for starting something without provocation just to make yourself look better. If your life is so damn miserable that tearing other people do...

 Above picture was taken by me this past fall, from the pedestrian path between the terminal and the employee lots at Indianapolis International Airport. Changing Scenery I've been here ten years now. Indiana, USA.  Never, ever thought I'd be here. It was in fact a plan of mine to NEVER move to the Midwest, since I foresaw myself having trouble dealing with the ideals, the religious elements, not to mention the aggressive disregard for my inherited political views. Yup, it's true--I'm a New England snob. More accurately, a displaced Masshole. Unabashedly a Patriots fan, not to mention a Rex Sox devotee. (Had to hide my colors while I was out here.... this here is Colt's country.)  (I've mellowed in the last decade, mental illness aside. I swear.)  Talk about a culture shock. All I did was move 952 miles away from where I was born and raised, and it was like I was in a different country. Different accents, different vehicles, people even...

Training Wheels In February 2014, I was attempting to assuage the withdrawal symptoms from missing my favorite show, BBC's Sherlock. I got clued in to fanfiction by my sister, and my world exploded. Here I was, staring at a website FULL of hundreds, thousands of people who loved what I did, and expressed their love in a myriad of ways....some with skill, most not so much. I struggled through the badly written ones, the ones written as porn and without a thought to plot, the ones full of angst and misery and not a touch of joy; I read dozens of fanfics, and while my Sherlock addiction was being moderately sated, I was growing heartily discontent with what I was reading. Nothing was satisfying that itch, that place in me that loved the show so damn much. ( I was severely depressed, I realize now that I was clinging so hard to the show as it was one of the few things in my life that made me happy, so I was obsessed for survival's sake.) I had an epiphany. After clo...

Finding My Way Depression. It is just as nasty and sad and horrible as it's made out to be.  I almost didn't make it out. I hit the bottom, a place so dark, so oppressive, that it took a serious brush with death to get my brain to wake the hell up.  An almost fatal accident, stop looking at me like that. Not suicide, I promise. Though I know the weight of serious depression, so I can understand to some degree why some people make that fatal and irreversible choice. (I don't condone, I understand--that's it. But I digress.)  If I had been more aware, more awake to the world and my place in it, it wouldn't have happened. I won't share what did happen, not yet. Been several months, almost a year, and I still can't talk or even think about it without thinking I'm going to die and freaking out. My life the last twelve years has been harder and harder to survive. I don't say this for pity, or sympathy. I am the architect of my own ...