The Runaway - Part Two

Hello again, fellow digressors. So you may have noticed that while you've been seeing a bit more of me lately, it's mostly had to do with Jill Williamson's new eBook, 'Darkness Reigns' and how much you need to check it out. Hopefully that's settled well with you, but just in case, I'll post something that's been a long time in coming... 

......Writing music recommendations! 

No, not really. But since I mentioned it, I did purchase a couple of albums of orchestral/trailer music over the past several months, and they're both amazing. The first is 'Magnus' by Audiomachine and the second is 'Classics: Vol. 2' by Two Steps From Hell. I also have 'Classics: Vol. 1' and it is an equally worthy offering, and I would very much like to buy Audiomachine's 'Phenomena'. Here are their lovely album covers for your consideration. 

Y'all who are writers or just like awesome orchestral music to make your brains work better or make your day feel more epic should check it out. There are one or two tracks that aren't my favorites, but considering how many tracks there are in all four put together (ninety, in case you were wondering), for all of them to surpass my expectations would be quite a remarkable feat. Overall, I'm in love with the albums and have found them very useful in making my brain work and getting the inspiration going for me to write. 

Hang on -- you say you were expecting something else from the post's title? What, my music recommendations aren't good enough for you? You don't like epic orchestral scores that get your blood pumping and brain cells firing? 

Well, phooey, then. I guess I'll just get on to the point of my post: A while back (a long while, I'm afraid) some of you voted in a poll regarding which short story/novella I should keep posting on the blog. The choice was between 'Street Rats' (the protagonist being Talsyn Lethar from 'The Merchant's Son') and 'The Runaway' (the protagonist being Jorthen Lavahr from 'The Follower'). And the winner was... 

The Runaway.

Never fear, those who were gunning for 'Street Rats' -- it's entirely possible that one of these nights, I'll get tired of my main projects and, in a fit of rebellion, write another installment in that story and post it here. I can guarantee that my brain will keep plotting it and imagining how I would introduce it to you and explain it on the back cover of the paperback and conduct my author interview on television... 

Wait, I'm getting sidetracked again. You really should warn me when I start doing that. I get little enough done as it is. I haven't even addressed the lovely people who have at some point nominated me for blog awards (Annika at Writer And Proud and Adriana over at The Librarian Files, who are both more faithful bloggers than I am; you should check them both out right now, if you haven't already). I do desperately want to catch up on all that (and also on the stuff my best friend Sierra over at Words on My Page has tagged me for). I just need to track down all the places where they linked me to details about the awards/events, then follow their instructions. Maybe I'll do it all in one big post... The hard part will be in tagging other bloggers; I guess I know a few, but I tend to forget their addresses when it counts. 

Anyways, without further ado, I shall end your long wait (for a continuation of the aforementioned story, that is)... 

------------------------------------------

The Runaway - Part Two

--------------

It took four men to haul the stranger into the building, two to catch his horse, and yet another to fetch the base physician, but within the space of half an hour, all was accomplished, and Jorthen stood by as the physician, Geram, bent over a musty cot and examined their runaway's injuries. Jorthen flinched at the sight of some of the burns, but the greying man before him remained stoic and steady as he checked the boy's breathing, his pulse, and, for whatever reason, his teeth. The gangly stranger before him did not stir for any of it. 

Jorthen held his tongue for a few minutes, then cleared his throat. "What do you think?" 

"Eh?" Geram glanced at him, then waved a hand dismissively. "I've only just begun my examination. I have nothing to report as of yet." 

"Nothing?" Jorthen frowned and stepped forward to get a better look. "Can you at least tell how severe his wounds are? Will he live?" 

"I've seen nothing to warrant either a yea or a nay on that subject, Master Lavahr. I'll thank you to wait outside while I examine my patient." 

Jorthen worked his jaw and fought to keep his tone neutral. "He may be injured, but for all we know, he could pose a threat if he woke and didn't understand what was going on or what your intentions were. If need be, I can speak to him in his own language." 

"Don't see how you couldn't keep watch from just outside the door," Geram grumbled, shaking his head. He sighed heavily. "Fine, then. If you must be here, you can at least make yourself useful. I need his tunic removed so I can check for burns in more vital areas than his face and limbs." 

Jorthen nodded. He had assisted physicians in such tasks before, but as Geram used a knife to cut the boy's tunic free from his body, Jorthen's flight instincts threatened to carry him out of the room. Hardly an inch of the boy's body was not bruised, cut, or burned, but his back was the worst. A large portion of the flesh was branded varying shades of red, purple, and even black where something must have struck and charred him. Jorthen glanced away to compose himself, then took a deep breath. "What should I do?" 
"Just get me the burn medicine from over there." Geram nodded towards a shelf on Jorthen's far right where a myriad of bottles sat. 
Jorthen walked over to the shelf and examined the bottles, but the harder he stared at the scrawled words on the labels, the less he was able to read them. He found one that he thought said something like 'Burns' and carried it over to Geram. 
Geram took a look at the bottle and grunted. "Give me that," he said, snatching the bottle from Jorthen. He strode over to the shelf and started searching for the burn medicine himself. 
Jorthen swallowed his frustration, then forgot it entirely as he looked again at the boy, who now lay on his stomach, still unconscious, tortured back exposed. He noticed a set of strange, claw-like scars running parallel to the boy's spine, all of them darker than scars would normally be and shaped as though they were new, though he could see no other sign that they were. He frowned. "Those marks along his spine... Did those come from the fire?" 
"Scars and birthmarks don't concern me," Geram said, pushing past Jorthen with the proper medicine in hand. "Only the wounds that still stand to cause trouble." 
"But these," Jorthen began, then trailed off as he remembered that Geram likely wouldn't listen anyhow. He glanced down at the Shamindo boy again and took a deep breath. "You know, maybe I'll just step outside after all. Call me if you need anything." 
"Go, then," Geram said indifferently, and popped the cork of the medicine bottle without so much as glancing at Jorthen. 
Jorthen hesitated a moment longer, then glimpsed the boy's injuries again and found his motivation to leave renewed. A moment later, he was out in the hallway with the door shut behind him. He nearly collided with a small band of male recruits who tried to peer through the doorway before he shut the door. "Back to your duties," he said. "There's nothing to see here." 
"Is it true they caught a Shamindo spy?" A dark-haired, light-eyed boy at the edge of the group stared wide-eyed at the door as if the injured runaway might leap out at him with his teeth bared. 
Jorthen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, it is not true." 
"How do you know?" One of the taller boys crossed his arms defiantly. "You only just found him, didn't you? Everyone knows Shamindo strays aren't to be trusted." 
"There are no spies here," Jorthen said. "Your superior officers will conduct an interrogation as soon as possible, and then we'll decide what to do with him." 
A chorus of protests broke out at his words, and more recruits joined the group either to protest or simply to watch the spectacle. "But how do you know he's not--" 
"Is it safe?" 
"Maybe he's an assassin, here to take out our alchemy instructor." 
"No, he's a horse thief, didn't you hear? He's here to steal our animals." 
"Maybe he's here to steal our secrets." 
"Or our lives." 
Jorthen clapped his hands hard, and the sound echoed through the hall. "That's enough," he shouted. Once the chatter had died down a bit, he scanned the crowd. "The situation is being handled, and I will update any genuinely concerned parties later when I have some actual information to give them. Until then, back to your training, or patrols, or whatever you're scheduled to do at this hour. Go." 
A discontented murmur spread throughout the crowd. but one by one the recruits dispersed and resorted to whispering their suspicions between themselves. 
Any thoughts of returning to his room to retreat from the stress of dealing with people were forgotten now as Jorthen centered himself in front of the door and clasped his hands behind him to keep a lookout. Perhaps none of the recruits meant any harm, but if Geram had been frustrated by one lieutenant captain hanging about while he worked, the fallout from several curious teenagers and twenty-somethings milling about watching him would be nigh on unimaginable. 
Whoever this boy might be, whatever reason brought him here, he deserved treatment from a focused physician, not one who turned away every few seconds to order people to back away. 
Jorthen stood still at the door for a quarter of an hour with little disturbance, and he considered turning back to check on Geram's progress. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he groaned inwardly. Why could the recruits not mind their own business for a few hours longer? 
But then he recognized the steady strides, measured, calculated, moving at a peculiar but repetitive interval, setting the bearer apart while still marking him as someone who knew exactly where he was going and why. 
Jorthen fixed his gaze on the wall directly across from him and instinctively tipped his chin up a fraction of an inch as a cold, familiar numbness crept into his fingers. 
Atrin Lavahr strode into his line of sight and brought his hands behind his back, icy blue eyes narrowing beneath dark hair carefully styled to fall over the faded scar on the right side of his forehead. "And just where have you been?" 
Jorthen swallowed and glanced off to the side before meeting Atrin's eyes. "Something came up. I had to help." 
"You were expected at a meeting regarding the age of recruitment and whether or not it should be lowered in the near future. It ended twenty minutes ago." 
Had it? Jorthen had no memory of such a meeting on his schedule, but then, the entire day been a blur since he'd woken up that morning with aching limbs and a fog in his head. He nodded once. "I apologize. The situation was... rather urgent." 
Atrin studied him for a long moment, mulling over his excuse. "And that situation is?" 
"A Shamindo boy showed up half-dead on a horse. I had to get him to Geram and ensure that no-one got in the way." 
"You had better concern yourself with more important matters than a thieving foreigner and his ailments, Lieutenant," Atrin said, then sighed and looked down the hall to his right. "I have another meeting to attend. We'll discuss your failure to fulfill your duties later." 
"I may be busy later," Jorthen said. "We still don't know who the boy is or what's to be done with him." 
"Fine, but get that all handled soon so you can get back to the work you're supposed to be doing. Understood?" 
Jorthen nodded. "Understood, sir." 
Without another word, Atrin turned and strode off with his usual gait in the direction he'd chosen. As usual, he did not bother looking back, and Jorthen did not bother trying to bid him farewell. With Atrin's absence, the feeling had begun to return to his fingers, and he found it easier to breathe without aggravating the old pain in his chest. He had been stupid for neglecting his duties without permission, but it might have been equally stupid to attempt to deal with a crowd of officers and dignitaries on a day like today, when neither his mind nor his body seemed willing to work the way they should. 
No sooner had he gotten used to the near silence than he heard a crashing noise behind him, followed by a thud against the door and a raspy voice screaming in Shamindo between hacking coughs. 
Geram's voice called over the chaos, "Lieutenant, you're needed in here!" 
Of course he was needed now. When else? 
Jorthen grabbed for his shakahn, then thought better of it and left the shortsword sheathed. If he was lucky, he would not have to draw it. He gripped the door's handle and ducked defensively as he pushed the door open and entered. A bottle flew past his head and smashed against the doorframe. 
As might have been extrapolated from the sounds he'd heard a moment before, the Shamindo boy had awoken and was less than calm about the situation. 
Jorthen grabbed Geram by the arm and pulled him out the door, then closed it quickly behind them and held it shut. The boy on the other side banged on the wood and tried to pull the door open, but a coughing fit stopped his efforts mere moments after he'd begun trying. 
"He tried to bite me," Geram said indignantly. 
"Come again?" Jorthen said, keeping hold of the door handle just in case. 
"I was tending the boy's wounds, and I'd nearly gotten far enough to come out and call for you, but no sooner than I'd turned around, he woke up and started hurling things at me. When I tried to sit him down again, he lunged at me and showed his teeth. Look what he did to my arm!" 
Jorthen glimpsed a row of scratch marks on Geram's arm, not very deep, but certainly recent. "Do you have any sedatives we could use to subdue him?" 
"Aye, but it'll be a miracle if he hasn't hurled it across the room by now." 
The sounds within no longer consisted of screams or pounding, nor even of bottles crashing against the wall. Instead Jorthen had to press his ear to the door to hear a series of gasps and coughs, along with a rustling sound he couldn't place. 
He glanced at Geram and straightened. "I'm going in there." 
"Suit yourself," Geram grumbled. "I'm going to call for more men to subdue him." 
"Hopefully it won't come to that," Jorthen said, then took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. 
The rustling stopped as he set foot into the room, and he halted. "It's all right," he called in. "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand me?" 
No answer came, but the gasping reduced volume to an uneven wheezing punctuated by the occasional light cough, and the rustling resumed. 
It was better than having a bottle thrown at him, he supposed. Jorthen stepped carefully over a pile of glass shards and turned with his arms raised in a peacemaking gesture. "We met earlier. I mean you no harm." 
He spotted the boy in the corner beside the examination cot, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, wild green eyes staring up at Jorthen as their owner continued to gasp for breath. He looked even more defenseless with his tunic gone, and from this angle Jorthen could see marks on his head where either the fire had caught him or something else kept his hair from growing normally. But however harmless he appeared, provoking him could be dangerous, as recent events proved. 
"It's all right," Jorthen repeated, slowly moving his foot to push the door closed. He stepped forward and lowered his hands to his sides. "Take slow, deep breaths, all right? Cough if you need to. There's plenty of air in here." 
The boy's eyes flitted towards the floor directly in front of Jorthen's feet. Jorthen looked down and found a rather large shard of glass right where he would he stepped had he moved forward again. He swept the glass off to the side with the side of his boot. "Thank you. I almost missed that." 
The boy tensed as the glass shard collided with the leg of a nearby table, and he rocked more fervently, creating the rustling noise Jorthen had heard from outside. 
He wanted to give the boy more space, but he had no idea how long it would be before Geram returned with men who would not be so careful about dealing with him. He shuffled forward another step, swept aside another set of tiny shards, and knelt carefully, resting his hands on his knees where the boy would easily be able to see them. "...I'm Jorthen Lavahr. Can you tell me your name?" 
The boy looked at Jorthen's hands, then at his face, then at his hands again, distrust in his eyes. 
"Look," Jorthen said. "I don't know if you can understand me, but..." He hesitated. "...Sal treyn? Sri treynin Jorthen Lavahr." 
The boy's throat bobbed, and at last he spoke, his voice faint and excessively raspy. "Heard you the first time." 
Jorthen sighed, checked for glass behind him, then shifted to sit in a cross-legged position. "So you can answer me, right? Can you tell me your name?" 
The boy tucked his chin behind his knees and shook his head, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground. 
"All right, then. Can you tell me how old you are? Are you fifteen, sixteen?" 
"Seventeen," the boy rasped. 
Jorthen nodded. "Good to know. If you can't tell me your name, is there something I should call you?" 
The boy tried to speak again, but his words were lost in another hacking fit. Jorthen waited until the fit subsided, and at last heard the boy whisper, "San." 
Jorthen managed a faint smile. "Good to meet you, San. You can call me Jorthen." 
If San heard him, he didn't acknowledge it before Jorthen heard footsteps outside the door behind him. He tensed and called over his shoulder, "Don't come in." 
San flinched at Jorthen's volume and pulled his knees more tightly to his chest. 
"Sorry," Jorthen said more quietly. "Listen, San, I'm just going to get up and tell the people at the door that we're all right in here. I'll move slowly so you can see everything I'm doing. Deal?" 
San didn't look up, but his head bobbed briefly in a nod. 
Good enough. Jorthen stood carefully and made his way to the door, then opened it a crack and spoke softly to the people on the other side. "You can go back to your posts. I have the situation handled." 
The soldier directly on the other side looked baffled, then irritated. "You sent old Geram halfway across the base to summon us just to tell us to leave?" 
It was just like Geram to shift blame, Jorthen thought, but he overlooked the fib for the moment. "I apologize. If you want something to do, inform my father and co-instructors that I won't be part of the sessions this afternoon. Send them my apologies." 
"Lieutenant," one of the other soldiers said reprovingly. 
"If you'd rather come in and deal with the boy I've only just succeeded in appeasing, be my guest." 
The men on the other side of the door went silent, then one of them muttered, "Apologies, sir. We'll be leaving now." 
Jorthen rested his forehead against the open door and allowed himself a moment to relax. He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to see Geram's withered, wary face peeking into the crack. "Is he tamed?" 
"He's calm," Jorthen said. "If you want to come in, give me time to warn him first." 
Geram nodded and took a step backwards. 
Jorthen shut the door quietly and turned back to the figure huddled in the corner. "San, the physician needs to come in to clean up and finish treating your injuries. Is that all right?" 
San's eyes flickered and widened slightly, and he shook his head wildly, then sped up his rocking. 
"Hey, hey." Jorthen approached him and knelt again to match his eye level, then forced himself slightly lower. "I'll stay right here the whole time, all right? I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you." 
San gulped again, and in the same faint, raspy voice as before, he said, "Not a baby." 
Jorthen's mouth twitched to the side. "I know you're not. But I also know you're nervous and in a foreign environment. It's understandable not to trust anyone. But do you think you can trust me enough to let the physician in?" 
San's eyes rose briefly to meet Jorthen's, then dropped again, and he nodded almost invisibly. 
Finally, Jorthen thought, then turned his head to call just loudly enough to be heard by aged ears, "Geram, you can come in now." 
Now if they could just get through the rest of the day without anyone getting bitten, scratched, or hit by objects being flung through the air, the day would be at least a marginal success. 

Lies People Believe About Depression

So here's the thing, fellow digressors: there's a reason why this blog is called 'Digressions of a Demented Scribe'. Several reasons, actually. You've probably picked up on several of them, if not all. I am a highly random person who's just as likely to bring up Messy Mondays, Doctor Who, or the weather in Afghanistan as she is to talk about how her day went on her blog. I have a chronic, neurological disease that messes with my head and gives me such things as photophobia (no, I'm not afraid of light; it just hurts my eyes sometimes), neuropathy (like pins and needles in the hands and feet), neurological tics (that's a new one; I keep randomly jerking my head back and forth), anxiety, and depression. 

One one accepts the idea that Lyme is a real disease, and that it can be chronic (and believe me, not everyone is willing to accept that), most of these are readily forgiven. People understand that, if microscopic parasites have gotten into your bloodstream and made their way to your brain and throughout your nervous system, things are going to get a little wacky. Heads might jerk, light might sting, and it might get uncomfortable to walk. But things like depression and anxiety are often stigmatized, and are widely misunderstood, even if they come about in relation to a separate, officially diagnosed issue. Depression in itself is a diagnosable, treatable problem, but all the same, there are a number of lies that people in general tend to believe about it, whether they pay lip-service to those lies or whether they just hold them in the back of their minds as "something I heard from some knowledgeable friend once." 

So, without further ado, here are a few... 

Lies People Believe About Depression (Debunked) 

Depression is just a bad mood that comes and goes. 

Depression is more than just a bad mood, though such moods are common when the disease is present, due to a low amount of serotonin and other mood-regulating or pleasure-related chemicals in the brain. In fact, sometimes it is not a mood or a feeling at all, but an absence of feeling, and absence of pleasure or of the ability to appreciate what once made a person happy. It may frequently involve tears and guilt and a crushing feeling of hopelessness that strips you of everything you are. But oftentimes, it may keep you chained to your bed, or sitting in a chair in your room, staring at a blank wall or an empty page, struggling to feel, to remember what it might have been like to experience joy, or excitement, or even pain or sadness. It is more than a sadness -- it is a loss of self. And although the intensity of one's "bad mood" may rise and fall, that pervasive sense of being different, of being a non-self without the ability to "fix" oneself, or to even remember who that "self" was before depression, persists. 

Depression has no physical symptoms, and is not a viable disease. 

Clinical depression is a highly researched disease with multiple neurological symptoms, and is often made marginally more bearable through treatments and activities that promote the production of healthy chemicals in the brain, although this is only a temporary "fix" meant to help with day-by-day coping, not a cure. It can affect not only one's mood, but also sleep cycles, concentration, energy levels, body weight, and even a tendency towards substance abuse and other self-destructive behaviors (usually as methods of coping or escape). Genetics can also play a role -- some people carry a gene that makes them more likely to suffer from depression or a similar disorder, and this can be passed on to their offspring. Therefore, depression often runs in families, though severity may vary between affected family members. 

Depression impacts nothing beyond a person's basic mood swings. It does not interfere significantly with its victims' lives. 

Among the many documented symptoms of depression are fatigue, lack of focus, severe loss of motivation (to the point where some severe sufferers lose even the will to leave their beds in the morning), and a loss of interest in activities that would normally be pleasurable. I realize I am repeating myself here, but one of the major points here is that depression is not just a mood -- it is a disease, and it should be taken seriously. 

Depression is a choice people make. If they would just try harder, smile more, make an effort to think more positively, exercise more, etc., they could snap out of it. 

Sorry, no. While some of these suggestions might help to alleviate symptoms temporarily (for example, exercise has been proven to release pleasure-related chemicals in the brain of which the sufferer is usually deprived, and promotes health overall), they do not cure depression. A person with hypoglycemia needs frequent blood-sugar-boosting foods to keep them going, but the foods do not cure the hypoglycemia. They are necessary, yes, as exercise and other such things are necessary to someone with depression, but they do not cure the root problem. You would not give a hypoglycemic person a big jar of nuts and say, "Here you go -- you're cured. Now you don't have to worry about that pesky hypoglycemia anymore." Would you? Of course not. It might help deal with their deficiency in the short term, but their blood sugar will run low again when the nuts run out, because that is the nature of their condition. Likewise, you can do things to temporarily boost a depressed person's mood, but eventually the high will wear off. The disease is still there. That does not make the mood-boosters unnecessary or irrelevant, but it does mean that they will not be sufficient to cure the person of their issues on a permanent basis. 

Depression sufferers are selfish and immature because they choose to wallow in self-pity and bring down the moods of everyone around them. 

Most (if not all) depression sufferers actively spend their days battling with their own minds in an attempt to think positively. They are constantly bombarded with thoughts of, "You're pathetic. What's the point? Nobody likes you. Your life stinks. You stink. You should just lock yourself in your room and never come out again. You're a freak. You shouldn't even be talking to normal people. This is all your fault. You should be able to just walk out there and be normal." To even make the effort to leave one's room and participate in normal activities often takes tremendous effort, and is exhausting for the person battling them. Personally, I sometimes find myself telling my brain out loud to shut up and leave me alone. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The point is, if people with depression always wallowed in self-pity and made no effort to push past the thoughts their brains manufactured for them, you would never see any of them (us) out of their (our) rooms or even attempting to do anything or to interact with people. If they let their brains win, they might not even live long enough for you to realize they were depressed. They are far from selfish pity-party-throwers -- they are warriors. And their private war should be respected, as hard as it may be to relate to something you cannot always see from the outside. 

Depression sufferers are just lazy and looking for an excuse to get out of work, school, etc. 

Depression sufferers would like nothing more than to be healthy and happy, and to move on with their lives just like the 'normal people'. They want to succeed and to be treated with the same respect as everyone else, and most of them work hard to earn that respect. I have never met one who did not wish they could just be normal and happy like everyone else. I've never met one depressed person who said, "Hey, this depression thing is really convenient. Now I have an excuse to lie around and do nothing all day." It just doesn't happen. If someone with depression appears to be lazy and unmotivated, it is only because they are exhausted and find the idea of doing anything productive daunting beyond belief. 

People with depression are insecure attention-seekers who need to get ahold of themselves. 

It is true that depression sufferers tend to be insecure, but very few actually seek attention unless they are truly desperate and don't know any other way to get help. Most live their lives in fear that those they know will discover the darkness of their inner lives and reject them. People with depression also tend to see themselves as burdens on those they love, and are particularly sensitive to rejection. As such, they do their best to hide their problems with others and appear as "normal" as possible, but when your mind insists on assaulting you on a regular basis, sometimes acting normal is impossible. 

People who try to express or alleviate their depressive symptoms through such destructive behaviors as cutting, eating disorders, drug abuse, etc., are freaks to be shunned, and will obviously go to Hell for making these choices. 

Okay, no. Just no. Where did this idea even originate? True, self-destructive behaviors are terrible things to adopt, and might even be categorized as sin by some, but nothing is beyond the grace of God. I mean, think about it -- God forgave and redeemed Saul of Tarsus, a man who built his reputation on his religious supremacy and persecution of Christ-followers. (Read the book of Acts. Saul is mentioned a couple of times in reference to the stoning of Stephen in chapters 5-7, but much of his story starts in chapter 9.) In fact, Saul of Tarsus became the Apostle Paul, one of the most faithful and effective witnesses for Christ ever to be seen. His crimes before coming to Christ were despicable, and I'm sure many believed he had no chance of redemption, but God worked through him nonetheless, and his mistakes now serve as a testament to us of how great God is and how mighty He is to save those who come to Him for forgiveness. 

So taking this into account, in what context can we assume that any person engaging in any behavior (no matter where their sins may fall on our scale of sinfulness) is past redemption? And beyond this, when is it okay to tell someone desperate enough to engage in self-destructive behaviors in an attempt to cope that they are irredeemable freaks unworthy of "righteous" people's attention? People who engage in self-destructive behaviors, while they may sometimes be crying for help with their actions, tend to engage in such behaviors as either a form of self-punishment, a release of tension, to make themselves feel again when depression has numbed them, or as a way to escape from the pain of their everyday lives. They are complex individuals created by God and loved infinitely by Him, and they are in pain. Excruciating pain. Pain so bad that they feel they need to hurt themselves just to survive. This may seem counter-intuitive, but it's common. And it is not your place, not my place, not anyone's place, to judge them. It is our place to love them and to do everything we can to help them deal with the problem behind these behaviors. You've heard that you can't treat the symptoms and ignore the disease and expect the patient to make a full recovery. Well, there you go. 

Depression is a character flaw, and proof that the sufferer doesn't really trust God like they should. 

Depression is a mental disease. It is neurological. It is perpetual. It is torturous and paralyzing. It is not a choice. It is not a mere state of mind. And it is not a sin. And for more on the subject of whether suffering is the result of a lack of trust in God, check out the book of Job. Seriously. Go look it up. Right now. Throughout the book, Job was judged and condemned by advisors who believed that his suffering was the result of some hidden sin, when all the while it was a test. It had nothing to do with Job's sins or with any lack of love for or trust in God. It had everything to do with putting the trust and love he had to the test, and proving just how strong and true it really was. Even when Job did not understand what was going on, even when he wished for death and questioned why God had brought it upon him, still he trusted that God was there, and glorified Him even when he didn't feel like doing it. Job did nothing to deserve his suffering. Likewise, whatever mistakes a person with depression may have made in their life, their depression should never be assumed to be a symptom of any hidden sin or lack of trust in God. Again, it is not our place to judge -- it is our place to accept people as they are, to acknowledge their pain without condemning them for it, and to love as God loves us. 

Depression is a temporary phase, and not to be taken seriously. 

Clinical depression, by its very definition, is a medical condition which can last months, years, or even for a person's entire life. It can severely impair its victims' ability to function and associate with others, or even to take care of themselves, and it drives some to take their own lives, either intentionally or by accident while engaging in self-destructive behaviors such as those listed above. And the longer it is left alone, the worse it gets. 

If someone with depression seems to have several good days and acts "normal" for longer than usual, this is a sign that their depression is gone, and should no longer be acknowledged as a reality. 

Sometimes people with depression have good days. They might even have an entire week of being able to behave normally, and those who are especially good at acting might be able to pass as a healthy individual for even longer. These highs, while enjoyable and encouraging, do not last forever, and often the depressed person may feel even worse when the high crashes, due to profound feelings of disappointment, fear, and guilt because they thought they were getting better. They truly want to be happy and healthy, as stated above, and when a high crashes, the loss of that empowering feeling may make the sufferer feel as though they have lost control. However, they may continue to fake the high so as not to disappoint their loved ones. In this way, the friends and family of depression sufferers are often left in the dark by a well-meaning person who only wants to spare them the hurt which the sufferer himself/herself bears every day and night. 

If you discover that someone you know is depressed, you should ignore their complaints and divert the conversation whenever possible. They will cheer up eventually on their own as long as no-one fosters their negativity. 

If you discover that someone you know is depressed, support them. Yes, cheering them up can sometimes be helpful (depending upon the person and how severe their depression is), and dwelling on the negative aspects of life can certainly be harmful. But what this person needs from you now is not just a pep talk, not just a cheery conversation about the weather or a TV show -- they need an ally, someone they know will be there no matter how rough things get, someone they can trust with their deepest insecurities. They need you to be the voice of sympathy and reason that does battle with the voices of insecurity and hopelessness that scream at them at all hours of the day. They need to feel that they can express their feelings and seek your help without being judged for what they say or do. Basically, actions speak louder than words, and your actions, whatever their nature, will positively scream your intentions in times like these. 

If depression is not a character flaw, then it must be the result of sin. Therefore, depression sufferers should be confronted and judged until they realize the error of their ways. 

Let's just start here: "Judge not, lest ye be judged." (Matthew 7:1, KJV) We already looked at the book of Job and discussed how suffering is not necessarily the result of sin or of a lack of trust in God. Suffering is a natural part of living in this sin-cursed world of ours. But even if it were the result of a person's own private sin, that is between them and God. Again, it is not your job to judge them. It is your job to love them. Yes, encourage them to think of good things. Gently encourage them to abstain from behaviors which harm themselves and others. Be honest, but also be loving. And in the case of depression, recognize the tremendous measure of strength it takes just to get through each day while suffering from this crippling disease. The error of their ways? Your friend, family member, etc. deserves a great big hug just for getting out of bed today, just for drawing breath again and again despite what their brain might try to make them do. Remember, you are not them. You do not know how they feel or what they are going through. You are in no position to judge them. 

And now, here's a big one: 

Depression sufferers are weak. 

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. 

And again, just to clarify: NO. 

Try this: Imagine the person you trust most is standing in front of you, the person whose ideas tend to most often match your own, whose opinion you value above all others. Now imagine that they're spouting out lies about you, horrible lies that tear you down and strip away whatever dignity you might have had previously. Now imagine they're sitting on your shoulders, and that you're forced to carry their weight all day, every day, and that they keep whispering these horrible lies while you try to sleep at night. They repeatedly tap your head in the most irritating and distracting way, making it impossible to focus, and whenever you try to do anything enjoyable or productive, they scream the futility of your actions into your ear, and don't quiet down until you give up and go back to bed. Then they just go back to whispering. You try to shake them off, but every attempt just makes them grab on more tightly. It's as if they're stuck to you with Gorilla glue, and it takes more energy than it's worth to pry them loose, so after the first couple of days, you just give up and try to ignore them. 

And they blame you for all of it. 

Over time, you begin to realize that this is not a person on your back -- it is a monster, and it's digging its claws into you, especially into your head. It makes it hard to sleep at night, and hard to get up in the morning, and what seemed like just a set of hurtful annoyances on the first day becomes a terrible routine and soon, you start to believe that all this is somehow your fault. You deserve this. Maybe those things the monster is saying about you really are true. Maybe nothing you do has a point. Maybe there's not really glue sticking them to you; by now, you should have just been able to shake them off and move on with your life. But they're still there. So now you believe you are a pathetic weakling who deserves all this distraction, discouragement, etc., just by nature of the fact that you're not able to get rid of this horrible, destructive person on your own. 

Congratulations. You've just gotten a tiny glimpse of what it's like to live with clinical depression. 

Now imagine that everyone around you sees you limping along with this leech on your back, but either they cannot see your burden, or they choose to ignore it, despite any pleas you may manage to communicate to them. And they start spouting things at you: 

"It's just a bad mood. You'll be fine." 

"Something on your back? Of course not. It's all in your head." 

"This isn't going to affect your work, is it?" 

"You know, if you would just straighten up and smile more, you'd forget all about that imaginary monster on your back." 

"How can you be so selfish? You should be running alongside all the rest of us, not asking for help with some little pest that's supposedly on your back. Shut up and man up." 

"You're just doing this to get a break from work/school/chores, aren't you?" 

"Sheesh, quit whining so much. It's not like you really have anything to complain about. Get ahold of yourself. You wouldn't even have these problems if you'd just stop complaining so much." 

"If there really is something on your back, it must mean God is punishing you. You're such a horrible person." 

"You're such a weakling."  

How do you think you would feel? 

I hope this post has been helpful in debunking a few of the common myths regarding depression. My intent is not to antagonize anyone, but simply to shed some light on a commonly misunderstood condition and help those who know and love someone with depression be better equipped to understand and help them. 

If you are depressed and thinking about hurting yourself, or are already engaged in some self-destructive behavior, I urge you to seek help. Talk to a parent, a trusted friend, a doctor or your pastor, but realize that you do not have to deal with this alone. Even if you have difficulty finding the support you need in your immediate group of friends and family, there are other options. Sites such as IMAlive allow you to chat instantly with someone who is trained in crisis intervention and wants desperately to help you through this, and the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at 1 (800) 273-8255. And above all else, remember that you are a unique human being created by God, loved infinitely by Him, and with a purpose in life far beyond anything you can see right now. However hopeless things might seem right now, you are not alone, and there is always hope. The next time you feel weak or worthless or like no-one cares, place your hand over your chest and feel your heartbeat, how it's still going despite everything that has happened to keep you from making it to today. And remember that Jesus Christ came to earth to give His life for you, to take your sins and pay for them with His own blood, because HE LOVES YOU. And no disease, no mistake you've made, nothing anyone else says can change that. 

Thanks for reading. Oh, yeah -- and Merry Christmas. I ought to make an effort to post something a bit more cheery before Christmas comes tomorrow. Is it tomorrow already? Wow. That's close. And guess what, you out there still reading this? You made it this far. Now keep holding on, and celebrate Christ's birth, death, and resurrection with me and everyone else who remembers the true meaning of the holiday. He came for you, you know. Christmas happens because God loved you enough to send His only son for you. I think that's something worth celebrating, don't you? 

But, of course... I digress. 

Character Interview #6: Kyra Daehr

Hello again, peopleses. Er, fellow digressors, I mean. Wow, it's late in the day to be posting, isn't it? *says the person who usually posts things after midnight* 

Anyways, on Thursday, I opened up my character, Kyra Daehr, for an interview, and some of you asked some great questions. As anticipated, she was a little rude in answering them, so you'll have to forgive her. I promise she's not heartless. She's just, er... a little hostile. *ahem* Anyways, here she is. 

Well, here goes nothing, I guess. Kyra, are you a troublemaker? 

No. If someone else makes trouble, I'll deal with them, but I don't cause trouble intentionally. That would be idiotic. 

Have you ever been one? 

In the sense that I haven't always conformed to the given rules, sure. I got into trouble for continuing my attack on a fellow trainee once when I had him on the ground. Apparently, that was considered bad form. I still say that if you don't learn to fight on the ground in training, you'll be dead in an actual fight. So any trouble I've caused was trouble that had to be made. 

Riiiiight. Why don't you get along with Sohrem? 

Because he's a spineless, secretive brat who doesn't know how to keep his nose out of everyone else's business. He's trouble personified. Ask anyone. Except for Shaetha, since she thinks everyone is some misunderstood innocent who just needs a hug or two. 

Hey, I like Shaetha. And her personality makes it a lot easier for her to talk with Sohrem without getting into trouble. Being nice does wonders. You should try it sometime. Maybe Lehn could give you lessons, since he apparently raised Shaetha so well. ANYWAYS. What is the most ridiculous thing you've ever done? 

That depends on who you ask. 

Well, I'm asking you. 

I think the most ridiculous thing I've ever done was let Jorthen take charge after Ender disappeared. The man is a traitor in the worst sense, and doesn't know when to step down. Others would say that the most ridiculous thing I've done was running back into the Lair when I realized we'd left Ender behind. I guess that was fairly stupid, too. 

Do you think that your friendship with Lehn could go further, and do you want it to? 

...Further than what? 

Further than normal friendship. Come on, girlie -- it's not like you haven't been ribbed enough about this. Don't play dumb. 

I'm not playing dumb. I just think it's ridiculous that so many people have shown so much interest in our relationship. As if I have time to think about relationships while I'm busy trying to get everyone home alive. 

Okay, Catnip. Whatever you say. 

What did you just call me? 

Nothing. 

Look, my friendship with Lehn is no-one's business. 

Wow, Catnip -- you're looking a little red there. Is it hot in here? 

Don't make me hurt you. And stop calling me that. No-one ever calls anyone else 'Catnip'. 

...*ahem* Do you feel threatened by others because of your race, and if so, what kind of treatment do you get that prompts that response? 

It depends on the situation. People tend to be more afraid of me than anything else. The Kiratai have always been known for being nomadic and aggressive. We've had to be. The clans tend to required a certain amount of distance between each other, and of course we have to travel between them for any trade or other relations. It's a dangerous area. We also believe that the stronger man always prevails. If you can't be physically strong, or strong enough in will to make up for it, you're seen as being no good to anyone else. Honestly, I've been removed from the culture for a decade and a half, which is most of my life, so I don't remember much firsthand. But suffice to say, people with a Kirat heritage are assumed to be aggressive and to show no mercy right from the get-go. So people either do their best to stay out of our way or take it upon themselves to show us our place. We usually pummel them if they try often enough. It's really none of their business. 

Personally, I've gotten a fair amount of verbal abuse, if you can even call it that. Basically, people try to tell me that I'm a savage or that I'm not as strong as I think I am, in cruder terms. I don't care. In most cases, they go up against me in a sparring match an hour later and regret every word. So it doesn't matter. 

What's unique about your Kirat heritage as opposed to others? 

Well, for one thing, I think it gives me a stronger will and greater stamina than most people. I was raised to follow through and stay strong, so that's what I do. It makes me an effective soldier. It might not make me a very nice person to talk to, but I'm not much for talking, so who really cares? We're generally very easy to pick out in a crowd, because we have darker skin than everyone else. We don't all have the same shade, of course. Ender and I have bronze skin, while Kohr, a friend of ours, has dark brown skin. It varies depending upon which clans are in your bloodlines. I think there's also something in all of us that makes it hard to settle in one place for long. If we have to stay rooted in one place, then we have to be actively involved and progressing in something to avoid losing our minds. 

Oh -- and I think most Kiratai believe in some sort of elemental spirits or gods, but again, I was young when I started living with the Khanor, and I don't think our family was typical. I specifically heard my father mention Yahveh a few times, and in my experience, most Yahveh-followers don't tend to believe in other gods. 

Which clan are you from? I'm curious now. 

I don't remember. It wasn't vital information for a five-year-old to know. But I do remember that we lived at the base of a mountain. You could probably find the ruins of the village and see if there's any evidence of which clan built it. 

Fine. What do you like the most about your heritage? 

Like I said, it gives me a backbone. It enables me to get things done when no-one else will. 

And then Lehn teaches you how to be a good person. 

If you say one more word about Lehn, I will cut you. 

No need. *shoves Kyra into the character closet, then quickly locks and bolsters a heavy chair against the door* 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Well, there you have it, folks. Like I said, I swear she has a heart. She can actually be very protective when she sets her mind to it, and she wouldn't really kill anyone unless it really had to be done. But hey, now you've heard her side of the story, at least as much as she's willing to tell. I can rat her out further, if you wish. For now, I must be off to eat dinner. Dinner is important. Feel free to ask any further questions in the comments below. Maaaaaybe I can even drag Kyra back in here to answer them. Maybe. Otherwise, I'll answer them for her (i.e., I can answer them out of character; I'm not quite so insane as to actually believe she's a real person, or at least not yet). 

Ask Kyra!

Hello again, fellow digressors. I apologize if I sound a bit scatterbrained today. That's mostly because I am quite scatterbrained at the moment. Ever have all your thoughts decide to play an impromptu game of 'Tag' and tearing off in different directions, scampering up trees and hiding behind bushes, climbing the drainpipes, occasionally chasing after each other, and ignoring all of your pleas to come back inside and help with the chores? Well, that's where I've been for the past few days, and I swear my thoughts have invented a hundred different varieties of tag in the meantime. 

Today Kyra Daehr is here for an interview. This one should be quite interesting. Kyra can be nice when she really wants to be, but she's generally very strongwilled and likes to put on a tough-girl front, so she might not appreciate my asking her questions. But she's one of the more popular characters from 'The Follower', so she really doesn't have much choice in the matter. 

Kyra Daehr

At age nineteen, Kyra Daehr is one of the best fighters in the Khanor Legion, but is better known for the set of claw-like scars that run down the left side of her face. After overcoming numerous hurdles put in place because of her race and gender, she has risen to a position of low command. She was in charge of the patrol that got trapped with another sent by the Reshan Guard, and routinely clashes with Jorthen Lavahr, the leader of the Guard patrol, now that they've been forced to work together. Kyra is the second-born child in her family, of which she and her elder brother Ender are the only survivors after Saethen (demon-dragons) and their servants laid waste to the village where the family lived. Kyra has few friends, but she is close with Lehn Sohran, and tolerates his younger sister, Shaetha. Kyra has a special passion for knives and for hand-to-hand combat, and excels at nearly everything she tries. Her Kirat heritage contributes to her fiery temperament, but (and she would never admit this) the proper trigger disables her by pulling her into memories of her encounters with the Saethen. Overall, she's not someone to be crosses, but she's not nearly as heartless as she'd like others to believe. Usually, Lehn is the only person she trusts enough to show her vulnerable side, and like Dertryn Jesyn (previously interviewed), is reluctant to discuss her family or childhood. It should be noted that Kyra was taken captive by the Saethen shortly after Dertryn was, and escaped around the same time or slightly later. Dertryn says someone helped him escape. It is possible that the same someone was involved in Kyra's escape. It is unlikely that she made it out on her own. 

Aaaaand that's all my scattered brain is giving me. Feel free to ask any questions below. Kyra has gotten a little more open recently, so she might not be quite as difficult as she would normally be. Maybe. We'll see. 

OH. Kyra and Sohrem do not get along at all. Ironic, considering that both of their ethnic backgrounds make other people less prone to trust them. One would think they would band together a little more, or at least not make it their mutual life goal to get each other hung from the gallows. But nope. 

Character Interview #5: Dertryn Jesyn

Hello, fellow digressors. I apologize for my lack of activity on the blog lately -- my addled (read: demented) brain has not been cooperating. I did, however, get some work done on a prequel novella focusing on Talsyn Lethar, Siran Lethar, and Rystar Teln. It's fun. And also painful. They're all so cute... *sniffs* Oh, also, I've been on book withdrawal, because I just finished Jill Williamson's 'Blood of Kings' trilogy, and it was pretty much the best thing ever. I've had a hard time moving on. I mean, how do you move on from something so awesome? Anybody have any ideas? 

ANYWAYS. 

This week, Dertryn Jesyn showed up for an interview, and you all were kind enough to submit questions so that his poor author wouldn't have to come up with them on her own. (No really, you have no idea how much I appreciate y'all's participation. *initiates group hug* Now I just need to step up my game a bit. Character interviews are fun, but I do want to offer other things along with them.) 

(Thanks to the lovely Elizabeth Liberty Lewis for adding the scars!)

What exactly happened while you were captured to leave you scarred? 

My author failed to mention that I don't talk about that time of my life. 

*holds up Dertryn's only remaining relative threateningly* 

Fine. It was more or less a branding. I have other, less visible scars, but the ones on my face were deliberate, left there to remind me that I belonged to the Saethen. I believe Kyra Daehr could elaborate on the process. It involved demon-dragons dragging their claws down my face and leaving some burning substance in the wounds that kept them from fading. It was all very twisted, really. I prefer to think of them as battle scars. 

You do that. What were the captors like? 

Madmen and cowards, most of them. The dragons did little with me directly. It was mostly left up to the men in their employ to break me. I think the idea was to either kill me or wear me down so much that I would gladly join them. A few men protested to the idea of torturing a child, but it didn't end well for them. After that, most of the guards gladly did their part. There was one who broke the mold, but I doubt he's still alive. He helped me escape, and I'll be eternally grateful, but if he's still breathing, he's probably had that last shred of decency beaten out of him by now. 

Mhm. I'm sure. Do you have any lady friends? 

...Could you clarify? 

Lady friends. You know, anyone you're romantically interested in or who is similarly interested in you. 

I don't see how that's anyone's business but my own. I'm not attached to anyone, if that's what you're wondering. I've had a few relationships, but they were all short-lived. Apparently. I'm too hardened for most women's tastes, and the women who are attracted to that aspect of my personality aren't exactly the women I'd keep company with, if you see what I mean. 

What was your best memory from when you were a kid? 

Probably the time Paeren took us to the dragon pens. 

Paeren...? 

...Father. You can't tell me you didn't know that. 

For all you readers at home who can't observe Dertryn's physical reactions to my questions, the look he's currently giving me says something akin to, "You are an idiot." 

You fool around too much. Anyhow, when I was young, Paeren took us to the dragon pens. They weren't literal pens, you understand, but they served the same purpose. Think a horse ranch, except with dragons. Paeren even let me ride with him for a few minutes before he had to leave. Nolan wouldn't even go near the things -- said they looked hungry. He was more interested in whatever book he'd brought along that day. This all happened before the Saethan-servants invaded, of course, so I wasn't afraid of the dragons. They excited me. I could talk of nothing else the whole way home. A week before, I would have jabbered on about a trip outdoors in the same way. I was easily excited. 

You were adorable. And hyperactive. I seem to recall that Nolan hardly got a moment of peace. Have you found yourself confronted with any fangirls? Or have the fangirls all avoided you so far? 

Fangirls, no. Interested persons, occasionally. I think my author only wrote me into about three or four scenes in her book, so it's likely that most people have forgotten I exist by now. Which is fine by me. 

You do know that you're a semi-major character in the next book, right? 

...I was trying to forget that, actually. 

Oh, okay. Well, I'll just keep reminding you, then. What is your dragon Tyri like? Does he feel like a friend to you? 

First off, he is a she. And she isn't especially fond of battle. She'll go into it if I urge her enough, but she's more like a big, scaly, winged dog than anything else. She's black, with silver eyes, and doesn't like people in general. I know people have all these ideas about dragon-riders having a mental connection with their dragons, but that's a myth. We form bonds, but it's the same as any bond a man might form with a favorite dog or a horse he often rides into battle. In that sense, Tyri is bonded to me and no-one else. We were sort of assigned to each other years ago. When I got back to Serdakai territory-- 

Serdakai? Wait, is that the possessive form of 'Serdak'? All these vocabulary words... 

You invented these words and these phonetics. Stop pretending you don't know them. 

Fine, Mister Grumpy-Gills. Continue. 

Gills...? *sighs* Anyhow, when I got home, I was terrified of dragons. That was a slight problem, since our entire culture revolves around the breeding, raising, and training of dragons. It's rather hard to navigate one's way through the mountain without them. Too many pits and drop-offs that would be impossible to cross. So my fear of them was unacceptable. But they couldn't get me to go anywhere near the creatures, so they gave up. Then Tyri came along, and they tried preliminary training with her, but she was too skittish. They didn't know what to do with either of us, so an old friend of Paeren's suggested pairing us. She was small and non-threatening enough that she didn't scare me, and I didn't try to force her to do anything until we were used to each other, so I guess I became her person. Eventually I trained her, and over time I was able to work around other dragons, as well. So it worked out. She's still lazy. And very protective. It's like having a jealous girlfriend with claws and sharp teeth. 

I certainly hope she hasn't eaten any real potential girlfriends. That would be unfortunate. Do you have a favorite food? 

I don't have much preference. We have limited resources inside the mountain, and prolonged trips outside are risky, so anything that originates on the surface is a luxury. I suppose I like apples. I had one once a few years ago, and it was good. Otherwise, I'll eat what I'm given. 
----------------------------------------------------------------- 

Well, there it is. Mister Grumpy-Gills made an appearance and actually answered the questions given, for the most part. Or should he be Mister Grumpy-Scales, since he's a dragon-rider...? What do you think? Do you have any more questions now that you know a little bit about the character? This whole interview thing is helpful in keeping him away from Kyra and Sohrem. None of them get along particularly well with each other. 

Anyways, I must be off now. Although I have done some work in that novella I mentioned (which currently has no title), I have done nothing in 'The Rescuer' in a couple of days. I need to go do that. *is distracted by her shiny signed copy of 'Captives' by her favorite author*

No. No distractions. I must be productive. I must cease my continual ramblings and focus my attentions on something worthwhile, something that will make the world a better place. I must cease my digressing once and for all!

...Ha.