Text: Darkness, Rejection

(This is a continuation from the last blog entry)

Besides having a fantasy crush with Draven and outside of that I spent a lot of time being confused on what to do with my spare time. I was a lot more involved with taking honors classes. I remember dedicating a lot of time to taking senior courses my sophomore year and also sitting in the library trying to read difficult texts. I think I got through about 100 pages of War and Peace among other accomplishments.

My mother became concerned after months passed and I expressed no interest in being outside with others. Prior to moving out I developed asthma from sleeping in my mom's old moldy basement during junior high. In an effort to tackle that obstacle I ran nearly every day during the summer and school year. It was another activity that I shared by myself, except for one of the two dogs on occasion. I did it to mostly be in shape, but another part of me was frustrated with the way I was treated during that time.

I was a 15 year old kid forced to ride the local bus that was shared by all grades, since it was a small district. The younger kids were much more apt to make fun of me, since I was probably the eldest there. I remember being called "The ugly kid" or "Screech" by people who were careless in their action. I am almost positive, as I reflect back on this period that they were probably more insecure than I was. Most of the kids who made fun of me were not necessarily the stereotypical jocks or cheerleaders. They were additional reasons I was addicted to my isolation. Instead of being confrontational and standing up for myself I walked away dejected.

I retreated to Alendria in class, in the library, on the bus, and at home. My addiction continued to grow as time passed. Draven became embedded in online political affairs, he worked his way up a rank of leaders and became an imperative figure in many eyes. His presence was both admired and despised, but in him I could channel confidence as the veil of the Internet kept my real persona out of the mix. Yet, as I said before, Draven was a projection of me in several ways. He was everything I wanted to be; he was the man who would stand up to all the people who looked down on me. He was the romantic man, the ideal father, a defender of peace, an upholder of the law, a glorified warrior-king, and above all else, recognized among the masses as a handsome, bold figure. He was everything I wished I was; but could people smell the fear of an insecure child behind the mask of an aging knight?

Draven stumbled through many introductory relationships where I experimented, textually, with the limits of my knowledge. I expanded my database of sexual terms without ever leaving my room and without the physical company of others. I visualized the female form from what I could access on the Internet, besides porn, fantasy images of nude females ran rampant as the ideal profile picture for over-weight women in bad marriages, playing fantasy roles themselves. A majority of the women online played both female and male characters, since many of the men who played were obsessed with war and had little to no knowledge of romance. Or, if they did, it was particularly skewed since most men didn't need to find refuge online for romantic interludes. Women had more trouble in this area. A lot of the women I talked to were in their mid-thirties and suffered from abusive or controlling husbands, or had to watch one of their many children. America Online was their solace; a momentary sanctuary were silence prevailed and pure, emotional thought was poured out in instant message through one of their active online voices.

Much like the men wanted to be the online Rambo, the women wanted to be fragile, beautiful, sexy, in the way a pin-up leaves little to the imagination. There were other women who shed that image for one of violence, an image that made them as strong if not stronger than the men online. What fantasies were these? Who were these people? I often asked myself these two questions and sometimes I was able to penetrate the characters to learn more about the players. We would trade images of each other to better understand, eventually I was strictly talking to people out of character, rather than writing with them. In the early days it was hard to find fantasy images online in an efficient manner. The more veteran players who started at an older age or had some outside talent could create artistic portraits of their characters. Some were amazing, others were pencil doodles that could hardly be taken seriously. I never found a portrait that represented Draven. In my head he had a well-kept graying beard; he was tall, broad shouldered, and his hair was long, flowing, and thin. The most prominent feature that I loved to picture was shinning silver armor that was accompanied by a thick hooded cloak. I even named his sword Duranel.

My addiction to Andarielle and her player became more addictive as well. Instead of calling the 1-800 number which was free, obviously, I started calling through my mom's phone service to her home in California. I remember my mom taking my computer upstairs and hiding it from me after she got a phone bill for $180.00. I couldn't help myself. Andarielle's player was one of the few people who could actually understand me. She was someone that I could ask questions and get answers when everyone else in the world was just laughing at me. My whole life I have been raised by women who have experienced more than I have, yet I rejected them all the same for not being men. For not being Draven, or my grandfathers, or my dad, who all raised me in some ways, but never enough to compensate for the time the women put into my life. As I grow up, I realize that I am particularly dependent on women to teach me things and in return, I offer little to no substance as I leech their knowledge. That's another story altogether.

(to be continued)