There is where I am, and there is where I should be.

I can see where I should be from where I am. Usually, I have a clear and unobstructed view.

What I do not have is a clear path. There is always some sort of canyon in between, and I know that to fall down it would at the very least seriously disable me, and could quite possibly destroy me entirely.

Some days, the canyon is huge and there's no way I could even consider crossing it.

Some days, it's a river instead, and I almost think that swimming it would be worth the risk. Almost.

Some days, it's a small but definite crack in the world, and I should be able to just jump over it, but what if I can't? And then I hate the cowardice of not trying.

When I first got the naproxen and the Strattera, right before All The Shit Happened last winter/spring, it was like "Oh hey, there's this log nearby that maybe I can push and roll over to where this gap is and I can finally cross the damn thing!"

Then All The Shit Happened, and it was like watching myself lose control of that log and have it fall into the abyss, which left me thinking about what it would have been like if I had fallen into the abyss. Didn't exactly incline me to go looking for another log.

And it frustrates me because sometimes it seems like people jump over this thing without a second thought, and I wish I could do it too.

[Admin post current as of April 9, 2009]

( I am writing this post to give readers some idea of who I am and of the perspectives and biases I am likely to bring to my writing. )