BY THE NUMBERS

I do typically try to stay on topic here, the topic being Games and Computers, shit like that. Sometimes however, I've got to keep it 100 and talk about other things. This is one such time, so buckle up buttercup...

I try to talk to my son like I would any other kid, or even an adult. That doesn't necessarily mean I tell him off color jokes about the papists, but it does mean I've avoided baby talk with him. Recently we were watching a cartoon he likes where the characters were going over the basics of counting by tens. I could see his frustration at this new concept as he asked "Why?", he's been learning 1, 2, 3 and now he's expected to understand 10, 20, 30. So, I explained to him that sometimes there's too many things to count easily. So, instead of counting 1-100 we count by tens.

It's like the way he counted already, 1, 2, 3 but with a zero after. It's not exact, and it doesn't let you appreciate each individual being counted, but it makes it easier to keep track of how many there are. And ultimately, it's faster, so you don't spend all morning counting and you can get on to other things like playing dinosaur and eating yogurt.

I'm sure someone else could've explained it better, I'm sure he didn't completely understand me, but he seemed satisfied with my explanation...

Like a lot of parents, I sometimes wonder what kind of person my son will be when he grows up. I like to imagine him growing up as a perfect alloy of the best qualities of both his mother and myself. But if I'm being honest with myself, I know he will be imperfect. He is human, and he will certainly be a blend of both parents with the added spice of experience and environment. Both like and unlike us, and that is as it should be. The point is, I don't know what he will be like when he grows up. So, I only want him to grow up, safe and loved.

Love, he's got that in abundance, the safe part however, that sometimes feels like a vain hope...

HERE COMES THE SADS
By now, we all know more about the Orlando shooting than we probably want to. In the coming days, we'll learn more. The truth is, the details won't do much but offer perspective to a horrific act of violence. At best, it might help some frame this terrible incident in some way that makes sense. The shooter is dead, along with fifty innocent people, another fifty were injured. The details don't bring back the dead. They don't stop a monster from being a monster.

These highly publicized mass shootings have become far too common in recent years for Americans, with the only real winners being news outlets that get a big bump from selling the story and people who sell guns. And no, I'm not going to get political about this. But, I will say that it makes me sick to my stomach. Because, I know it's happened before. I know it's happening right now. And I know it will happen again. And, all I'm left with is the simple question, "Why?"

Because this whole thing, from top to bottom makes absolutely no sense to me. I would write more, but honestly I just don't think I can.

If you or someone you love has been affected by one of these senseless acts of violence, whether it was Columbine, Sandy Hook, VA Tech, Orlando or any one of numerous others, my heart goes out to you, I will listen if you need to talk (always confidential, contact me at k.srsbusiness@gmail.com or find me on Facebook).

And if you would like to Support Victims of Pulse Shooting
https://www.gofundme.com/PulseVictimsFund

With that, I leave you. But I'll be back with something a little more cheery next time, I promise.

K

IN MEMORIAM

Before we get started, I would like to take a moment to warn you and apologize. This won't be a normal update, it hasn't been a normal week. Originally I meant to write up about my progress as normal and discuss a topic I get a lot of questions about, specifically I was writing out something for a friend of mine, then this happened...

ONCE UPON A TIME
Long, long ago in the year 2008 I was playing World of Warcraft and suddenly Blizzard announced that they would be rolling out a new feature for the game called Recruit a Friend. Lots of bonuses and perks, like bonus experience points for levelling and a new mount the Swift Zhevra. This came at an opportune time for me, I had become interested in multiboxing. So, I went HAM on my team. I liked the mount, though I had better. I submitted a screenshot of my Undead Rogue Cicatriz astride the beast and lo, Blizzard decided to use my screenshot on their website advertising the feature.

One day in Orgrimmar, I was on Cicatriz when I got a message from an aspiring rogue named Nephora. Prior to boxing, Cic had been my main, by this point however, I was playing a Paladin + 4 Shamans pretty hot and heavy. I even reached a point where I was running 5 Shamans in Arena with some success. So, my poor Rogue had been demoted. He was (and would ever after be) relegated to AH mule duty. But I digress, Nephora asked me about the name of my character. I explained, that it was Spanish for scar. I'd taken the name from a song by one of my favorite bands, the Mars Volta. He asked me about my mount, and I directed him to the Blizzard site for more information about RAF.

We talked a bit more, he had questions about it. He was also looking for a guild, at the time the guild I was in was strictly Friends and Family. So, I directed him elsewhere but made sure he knew to contact me if he needed anything else because I try to be helpful and I liked the kids enthusiasm. I didn't hear much from him for a while, but it certainly wouldn't be the last I saw of Nephora.

FIRE IN NORTHREND
Later that year Wrath of the Lich King was released, and there was much rejoicing. My rogue stayed put (actually he didn't leave Org for years, not till WoD came along). And my Paladin joined him in favor of my Death Knight, Khaas. Our guild went through a change from a burnt out group of ex Vanilla raiders in a Friends and Family guild to a tight group of casual raiders. By the time Ulduar was released we were actively recruiting and filling a 25 man raid roster. One day on the forums a name I hadn't seen in a while showed up as a new recruit, it was the Rogue Nephora. Of course, he didn't know who I was at first.

I told him after he was a full member, and we were thick as theives ever after. He was our only rogue for the majority of the expansion. And was there well into Cataclysm when the guild fell apart, rebuilt itself and transferred to a new server under new management. He ended up on a different server entirely, Illidan. By then I was no longer playing WoW but we had become legit friends outside the game. And we remained close until Feb 11th.

Cody (Nephora) had one leg partially amputated last year. He went through months of surgeries trying to save as much of the leg as possible. Then going through all of the recuperative therapy that goes along with such an ordeal. He'd only gotten back home a couple of months ago. We talked a lot, he was going through a lot of things. He was 24 and had some growing concerns about mental illness. I'd been open with him about my struggles with my own brand of madness, so he came to me.

At any rate, over Valentine's weekend I had gotten a bit spooked. I hadn't heard from him in a couple of days which was uncharacteristic. He'd been really upbeat last time I'd talked to him, he'd decided he was going to discuss his concerns with his doctor. We'd been talking about doing some fun stuff on Twitch together, and I was anxious to get some preliminaries figured out with him. Then my wife hit me with it, "Keith I don't know how to tell you this, I think something happened to Cody. You better get on Facebook."

I went and was as confused as she was, I finally managed to get in touch with someone close to the situation (Cody lived in Canada, I live in the Southern US). It turns out he'd overdosed on his pain meds. He'd died on the 11th, the family had already made arrangements to have him cremated. And so, my friend is gone. But hardly forgotten.

EPILOGUE
I've been struggling with how to deal with this, and how I wanted to present this. Because I knew without doubt, I needed to talk about it somehow. He was a little brother to me, always the same excited creature I met in 2008. At the lowest points I still saw it there. I find myself at times forgetting he's gone, I'll come across something that I know he'd like, a joke about Maro Kart (that kid was goofy for Mario Kart) and I'll catch myself tagging him on Facebook just before I hit send.

Or I'll have a moment where I wonder if he's okay, because it's been a while since I've heard from him. In those moments, I lose him all over again. A part of me is enraged, that my mind can't seem to grasp the simple concept that my friend is gone and he's not coming back.

K

THE UPS AND DOWNS

Tuck in, this will be neither easy or short, but it needs to be said. Recently I read a post on a forum about the need to remove toxicity from social interactions, in the original post it was stated that recently a young girl, local to the writer had killed herself. The girl was a stranger, but the details of her life prior to her demise where not unfamiliar. I was touched by the humanity of this person's message. Then I did what one should never do in such situations, I scrolled down and read the comments (never read the comments, or always read the comments - depending on how you want the rest of your day to go).

I should say, that there was a surprising amount of positive response to the original message. That, I found heartening. I continued to read, just to the end of the first page of comments, allowing myself with each such message to build hope in my fellow humans. As the more cynical of you likely surmise, this is when things took a turn.

"If you're so delicate that you kill yourself over what someone else said about you online then that's just natural selection at work."

Someone went as far as to ask for a name to submit to the Darwin Awards, because people are terrible.

I didn't chime in there, I closed the tab and opened up Facebook. I wrote the following, because this nameless girl was on my mind.

"A young girl who played video games killed herself. She was young and complex, and now she is simply dead, but why? Like many young people she had issues with herself, hard enough figuring out who you are as a teenager. Then to have body image issues that are magnified by those around you.

She fought the good fight for a while, she vacillated between hating herself and her body and feeling good about herself for a while when she played her favorite video game. Then one day a classmate managed to find the girl in the game, her one refuge from abuse was gone. Why bother to find another? The words flung at her from the screen cut her to the core, reminding her of what she'd always secretly believed: she was worthless and it was not going to get better.

She was fourteen years old, and when she died all possibilities for her life ended as well. She could've grown to be anything, but she killed herself. It happens everyday.

For some reason, whenever these things happen there are always those anxious to stand up for the abuser, because words never really hurt, right? Sticks and stones and all that, they never REALLY do any damage. She should've just grown a thicker skin, she should have just ignored them. She should've gotten some nice clothes, or lost some weight. She should've stopped playing games and just smiled more. It was her fault, and definitely had nothing to do with the things people said to her when she was alive..."

I was vaguebooking of course, but with an ulterior motive. And here I am now expanding on that motive, because I believe that it's an important topic that needs to be considered very seriously. But first, allow me to present my bonafides.

GETTING PERSONAL
I grew up in the 80s, I graduated high school in the late 90s. Before I left school I had been diagnosed with mental illness. Specifically bipolar disorder, afterward I learned that my problems were more complex still and I imagine that if I were to speak to a professional today I'd learn yet more about the darker recesses of my mind. I'm thirty six now, but back then I was dealing with numerous issues such as multiple deaths of close relatives and molestation by an older relative. Then there was the fracturing of my extended family as my father divorced my step mom and the subsequent disquiet that followed. I was bullied, consistently at school until I ran away from home at the age of fifteen.

I was picked up by the police, and a portion of the problem, the most immediate at least was laid on the table for my parents. The next day I left the school and my bully to live with my recently single father and my grandfather in Oklahoma. I stayed for a semester, before returning to mother who moved to the city where I would ultimately graduate. Unfortunately, our new home was next door to the adult who molested me, so not the ideal situation. My father was having his own issues at the time, I don't imagine that time period was easy for him either, and certainly wouldn't have been vastly improved by having to worry about me and my well being while he was at dealing with the slings and arrows of the time. But I digress...

The term damaged goods seems apt here, I was and am an intelligent individual, however I was by no means a sterling pupil. And though I cannot necessarily excuse it, I can say that in light of the circumstances I'm hardly surprised either. After high school, with few prospects I turned to the military. I was turned away by an Army Recruiter who felt there was something "off" about me, enough so that he referred me to a doctor friend of his. I found that in addition to bipolar disorder, I was also schizophrenic.

Picture unrelated, just thought you might appreciate a break from the awful.

I spent the next few years getting a handle on myself, normally I'd turn that into a joke to lighten the mood. But it's also quite true, I was young and aimless. With all of the normal problems that come with that state, but moreover I was also now a literal crazy person. It's difficult to write that even now, but if I'm going to be honest here, I have to admit that's exactly how I felt at the time. I did not know anyone who was schizophrenic, I didn't have anyone to look to and say, "see, just because I have this condition does not mean that I can not be a fully functional human, a part of society." No, what I saw was in fact quite the opposite. I saw, and still very largely only see the stigma attached to the condition in popular culture and everyday social interactions. As I've gotten older, I've begun to conceive of ever increasingly complex defense mechanisms, not the least of which is humor, "Having been diagnosed a schizophrenic was actually a great relief you see, because I realized it meant I'd never be lonely again." I'm still not sure how I want to approach the topic generally speaking, so I default to levity because the alternative to laughing about it is crying about it, and I'd much rather mock the hurricane personally.

VERY INTERESTING, BUT
At this point you're likely thinking, that's all very interesting but what does it have to do with that girl you mentioned earlier? Well, I'm getting to that. I mentioned defenses, because someone in my position absolutely must develop a veritable arsenal of defense mechanism and coping devices. For me, I spend a lot of time inside my own head. Personal interaction with other people can be exhausting at best, a near nightmare at worst. Imagine if you will trying to have a conversation with someone about the politics of the day while ignoring a cacophony of disembodied voices intent on reviling your very existence. It requires concentration, focus of an order that is hard to explain and even more difficult to maintain. Which means that if I engage you in a conversation of any real length, please understand it means I think quite highly of you, sufficiently to give you what can best be described as my literal full attention.

I learned early on that thoughts of suicide among people with mental illness are common, and do not necessarily go away. In fact, it was thoughts of suicide that drove me to seek help in my teens, but that's certainly not always the case. Sometimes, regrettably thoughts of suicide lead to attempts of suicide. And sometimes, ultimately those thoughts can be fatal.

I wrote about that girl, creating details where there were none given because her story resonated with me. It reminded me of the first time I thought about killing myself, not something I've considered in many years. Primarily because I try very hard not to dwell on such considerations. I was sixteen, I walked through the living room past an ornate wooden gun cabinet on my way to grab breakfast before going to school. And I paused to look at the guns. There was a moment where I realized how easy it would be, I felt tired suddenly and walked away. Afterward I was always a little loathe to be near that cabinet. But for a long time, every morning I would walk by that cabinet and think "maybe tomorrow, but not today".

I look back on those days and I can't help thinking how lucky I am, the internet existed back then but in the mid 90s it was a pale glimmer of what it's become. Much like the girl, I had my demons I contended with every day. I buried myself in video games, but I know it would've taken but the slightest push at just the wrong time to topple me then. And realizing how close I was then, and how literally caustic people are now in games with any sort of online component (League of Legends for example)... I shudder to think.

I'm an adult, I've got my problems but I like to think of myself as a reasonably well adjusted one all things considered. And there are times where even I can't deal with the vitriol of a chat server tough guy. I can only imagine being young, vulnerable, and then having someone targeting me specifically. Possibly using real world information to fan the flames...

But then, words never hurt do they?

It's obviously a deficiency in the other, and even when we're aware of that deficiency and persist, it's still their fault. Words are the very tools of meaning, there are those that would use them as cudgels to beat down others. Why? For the lulz of course, for the shear meanness of it. And that, is something that should be enshrined, and never once criticized - because it is their right! And again, because sticks and stones.

If you still, after everything feel that words never matter. That they don't do harm. Go to a court room and listen to how quiet it isn't. And realize that sometimes the words used can literally mean life or death for someone as it did for a girl whose name I may never know. As I'm sure it does daily for so many. Words have power, we just don't like to admit it because then we might have to accept responsibility for the ones we use.


As always, if you or someone you love needs someone to talk to someone about Suicide, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline anytime at 1 (800) 273-8255. And if you have questions about Mental Health you can visit National Alliance of Mental Illness at https://www.nami.org/ to learn more or to get help.




And with that, I leave you in love.

Regards,
K