This is going to be the second installment of the true-life accounts of a cow person, just trying to make it in the world, and his IRL alter ego’s battle through depression and life changes. (To catch up, here’s Part I.)
Right before I left that morning, I said goodbye to all my guildies, unsure of what to expect when I reached the hospital. Tarsonus was relaxing, ready for sleep after a long night of leveling out in the Blasted Lands. I wandered to an inn, to be sure I could level with ease once I returned home later. As I logged out, I knew today was going to be one of the hardest of my life.
August 4th, 2008 is a day in my life I will never forget. It was blistering hot, the sun was bearing down on everyone outside that day. Everywhere I looked it seemed like such a peaceful day. Everyone buzzed about their business, my friends and I made jokes, I chain smoked cigarette after cigarette. Everything seemed normal, except that we were outside of the hospital and my mother was upstairs, hooked up to machines to make her breathe, slowly slipping away from me and everyone else who loved her. I felt horrible at the time for thinking, but I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be anywhere. Even Azeroth had lost its shine and shimmer for me at this time. Dalvengyr (my server) was no longer my sanctuary from the outside world, simply another reminder that time eventually passed and things changed. Outside, my friends chattered on and I am sure I did too, though I couldn’t tell you the conversation. I hated everything and everyone for feeling normal. For being able to smile without a false sense of hope.
...continue reading »