You are the person you want to be in the game.

You may be an alt-aholic like me. You may revel in knowing subsets of spells that play off each class type in a raid setting. You may get a hoot out of being your own self-sustainable economy where trade goods, specialty items and gold await your ever-growing needy professions. However, you may be getting older (I can almost guarantee it). And getting older sometimes means that you put your priorities in order. For me, that means investing time to play on my shadow priest and pally tank who were once my most-hated characters.

They were my healers and oh, did I hate healing. I hate that feeling of someone dying when you're about to get that heal off. You know how you sometimes watch nubs run into a mob and accidentially pull? It's kinda like that but imagine the visceral shock if a mage instantly blinked into a crowd. It's not like you can prevent someone from doing something nubby like hitting the wrong button but once things are put into action like a swipe at stacked dominos, the brain is shocked into a flurry of priorities...

a) run away
b) run in and try to draw aggro
c) stand there and wait to die
d) yell at nub

But when it comes to healing, you're the nub who pressed the wrong button, your crit isn't enough, you overhealed drastically and you're oom already. It's a bloody lottery and sometimes you get it and sometimes you don't. That was why I was such a cleansing fiend. You couldn't make a mistake with cleansing. Now my priest and paladin are in alternative lifestyles that I've never envisioned for them before, it makes me wonder how I developed as a person.

Virtual selves is a subject that takes my fancy because it's my belief that you are the person you want to be in the game. We, as tanks, take the blunt of the bewildering, consistent rage that a mob has. Virtues of durability, avoidance and strength to build threat (or spell damage) are exalted. There is the chance of having to endure unexpected strong blows but longevity is expected with the proper support of your healers. You are the front-runner, the one to take it for the team and survive against the odds.

If you realize that every action you take is accountable to the kind of person you are, whether it's with interacting with another player or an NPC, it does put things in perspective, no?

What does this mean for you with your RL self if your tank is your true self? Some people manage to intersect the true self and the RL self to be a balanced person but the RL self often is a false self. It's false but hardly determential or malicious as a mask has evolved to represent in Western culture. It exists for good reason: to get along with others. However for myself who had lost the confidence to trust in her abilities, her intuition and her opinion, I look at the role of my paladin as a gauge of what I can be capable of because there is no censor for what she is.

Then again, for being an alt-aholic as mentioned, I notice that different aspects of my personality come out with each character I play. My mage, the ice queen. My rogue delights to be unnoticed. My lock, greedy to unleash her inane power and be oh so adorable. My gnome warrior, my little Zsa Zsa Gebor, wanting to instill fear in the big boys (still working on that one :P). My hunter, a dwarf female who represents how I feel about my looks. It doesn't matter how often people affirm my attractiveness; it will be a long time until I'll stop believing it. So for now, I'll accept and embrace her non-traditional looks. Etcetera, etc., etc.

Last night, I talked to a friend who was twisted by her choice to accept the life of becoming a doctor or not. She believed that if she were to develop and study herself into being a great doctor, she would neglect her children. Nevermind that she has no children, is in her mid-20s with no boyfriend but she was so caught up with what could happen to them. I told her, "Give your imaginary children a chance". I never thought that this imaginary figure that I nurtured would amplify anything back at me.

Bop = touch my body

I want to be my flirty dirty self again. I want to juggle boys' minds and rock my world with the amusement that I have boobies and long black hair and a pouty mouth. I forgot how to toy with thoughts. I forgot how to feel creative and sexy.

Too much going down

So many thoughts that slips through the cracks. I think that's what depression is for me: scooping sand with a sieve.

I like to write with a purpose but there does come a point where I self-censor everything I write so I'm attempting to burst past it with simple wording.

My best friend's sister passed away, alone in a hotel room bathroom, stabbed to death. She did it to herself. She was found the next day by the hotel manager who had to break down her door as it was latched. She wrote a note, apologizing to the hotel staff for the inconvenience. She wrote that she had a loving family and noone was to blame. She just started medication for the first time two months ago. She seemed to be doing well.

This is the night when I too, was considering hurting myself; the pain in my chest was so great. I'm waiting on my medication. I knew the tools to get past the thoughts. I knew that suicide is the permanent solution to a temporary problem. Surprisingly, it was a dance radio station that got me past the thoughts, after hours of trying to meditate, after contemplating calling a suicide hotline, after forcing myself to not think of any sharp objects, lest I form a plan to delegate one of my limbs to harm.

I'm a somewhat normal, outgoing, intelligent person who loves her family, loves life, loves beauty and people. I've undergone alot of traumatic events in my life but I do my best to not to be a victim anymore. I have friends, hobbies, talents, the ability to challenge myself even though it may be so uncomfortable to even walk outside, my agoraphobia can be great.

My friend's sister did not cry out for anything. She had no friends. She had her family though. She was college-educated, but did not graduate. I did not graduate as scheduled but at her age of 26, I had finally gained the courage to go back and finish my final semester. She had severe body image issues as I do. I was the only person she felt comfortable with and it makes me sad that I couldn't get to know her even though I've tried. I suggested WoW as an alternative for her to make friends; her depression was to the extent that a game wouldn't have made her feel good.

I could have easily been her were it not for me opening up just a little in high school to people who became my best friends. If they weren't there for me, I think I would have been immersed in my mother's judgments, convinced that there's something terribly wrong with me.

Why did you have to hold onto your pride? Pride was the only thing you said you had and it was the reason you didn't want to seek help.

Why did you girls have to hold onto saving the family by not outing a relative who harmed you when you were young? I'm so angry at him and at my friend. I can't help but feel that he contributed to her feeling of being disjointed.

Why did her mother hold onto her so tight? Why did she feed her little ancedotes of the terrors that would happen all around the neighborhood? Why did her mother throw fits if she didn't get her way regarding curfew for two girls who were in their mid-20s? Her mother tried so hard to protect her children who aren't Chinese children but American adults.

I hate that there is so much pressure to be perfect. I hate that I have to live my life with constant pain. I hate that my friend's sister didn't give herself a chance to take a risk.


http://www.imdiversity.com/Villages/asian/family_lifestyle_traditions/pns_pressure_depression_0805.asp

http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/05/16/asian.suicides/index.html

http://www.womensenews.org/article.cfm?aid=2891