(I was debating whether or not to post this today, out of respect for the news of Joe Kennedy's passing. I was only aware of him peripherally, but it's always a terrible thing when baseball loses one of its own, and it seems as if there have been just too many recently... Darryl Kile, Cory Lidle, and Josh Hancock, and now Joe Kennedy... rest in peace, Joe).

A lot has happened since I've been gone. The Rockies completed the process of losing the World Series, those blasted Beantowners took the crown instead, the Gold Gloves were a joke, Holliday and Tulowitzki got robbed, etc... it's been an eventful month or so. I've been reading occasionally, but haven't posted and have in general been trying to spend more time elsewhere - unfortunately, I still have a terrible Internet addiction. But that's due to a number of factors, and I'm hoping that I've recovered enough to get somewhere near back to normal.

I've been struggling with depression this year, for really the first time in my life, and naturally it's been hard to adjust to. It first hit me in summer, as the last weeks of July and the first few weeks of August saw me sliding, really upset and down, for a variety of reasons which aren't worth dredging up again. I just wasn't happy and I wasn't myself, I'd lost my ability to write, and I wasn't feeling very ambitious; I was tired, very lonely, and having a combination self-esteem/identity crisis. I went to work and did whatever I had to. Nothing fun, just duty.

But at least I had the Rockies. I have a certain habit of clinging onto the good things instead of really trying to face and work through the bad things, and the Rockies were always a bright spot for me - I could pay attention to the games, post on the Row, and pretend that things were normal instead of really getting to the bottom of my problems. I recently estimated that I think about the game, the team, or the guys in some shape or form for a great majority of each day, and whether that's symbolic of a loving addiction or an unhealthy obsession (perhaps both) you can decide. So, during the first bout of depression, I at least could hold onto the team.

I went back to school in early September and was initially happy to be back and resume my studies. I'm quite happy at my college and I like what I'm doing there, so it was all right for a month or two. I had the Rockies to follow from afar (I didn't miss a game, even if they were all on Gameday, I was there, watching, giving up any activity that might conflict). I was madly jealous of my sister, who attended both the tiebreaker and the NLDS clincher. I had the amazing win streaks to cheer on and during NLDS Game 3 and NLCS Game 4, when Manny was on the mound to shut down the Phillies and D-backs respectively, I was too nervous to stay in my room and instead began rambling around campus maniacally at midnight, returning to peer through my fingers and see the good times. That still may be the best I've ever felt.

Nonetheless, I was starting to slide again - this time, the Rockies, as wonderful as they were, weren't enough to pull me back. I was just really tired all the time and feeling overwhelmed - sophomore slump, I suppose. On the days that I had no class, I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed before three o'clock in the afternoon. I didn't want to see anybody and yet my loneliness was driving me crazy. I really just wanted to go home for a while and go to a game, or go down to LoDo and enjoy the purple ambiance; I wanted the Rockies just as much or more than I wanted anything else and it was killing me to be 1600 miles away from them when they were embroiled in the thick of their magical run. I tried to comfort myself with my baseball cards, YouTube videos of the chaos in the stands, the MVP chants, everything that I was missing - and I still haven't entirely forgiven myself for not being there.

By this time, I was already struggling, but looking forward to the World Series since I thought it would help me surface... and, as we know, bad idea. That became a total shatterpoint for me. It's not that I can't handle heckling - I have survived not one, but two full games in the Yankee Stadium bleachers with a friend in enemy colors, and laughed at the saltier denizens of Shea who gave me the business when I went, in full Rockies regalia, to two Mets/Rox games in April - but my emotional energy was at an all-time low ebb. I was an exposed nerve and the games didn't exactly help with that. I was already so bitterly upset from the disappointing results and the few boorish Red Sox fans who came here to boast (and who we couldn't even get to shut up later because they were right, dammit) that the Rockies were making me feel completely terrible. I'd lost my last lifeline where things were still all right, and I was just drowning instead. That's why I left.

The few days after the Series ended were probably the worst I've ever felt in my life. I spent so much time trying to make it all right in my head, to force the Rockies to be a place where I could feel safe, but it just wasn't working; it was hurting me too badly along with everything else. So I tried to escape. I didn't get out of bed unless I had class, and class itself wasn't fun. I sat there and took notes and didn't really say anything. I went alone to meals and then back to my room and rambled over the Internet and did nothing really productive. This kind of depression just isn't fun. It makes you feel hollow and sore and silent. I don't recommend it.

I talked to some friends, I talked to my parents, and eventually they decided that since I was so upset and down, they'd find a way to bring me home for Thanksgiving. This at least was something I could look forward to, and I had some good news in my writing class to tide me over (my professor quite liked my baseball - what else - novel, and we're working on finding me a literary agent). I also met a truly wonderful guy named Matt, who with coffee dates, shared writing, hugs, and talks, helped lift my spirits and make me see the light again. But there was one thing I still needed to rebuild my happy place, and that was my Rockies.

I wanted to go home so badly it was crazy; for several weeks before I actually left, I tracked the flight I'd be taking from New York. Finally, this past Monday, I had a frantically busy day turning in midterms and registering for new classes, dealt with the usual heinous holiday delays out of LaGuardia, and after a four-hour flight, landed in Denver at 1:45 AM. I was so happy to be there, to be home, it was crazy. As my sister was driving us up I-70 in the dead of night, I was waving at a Coors I couldn't even see, but I knew it was there. When we saw a sign for "Coors Field," I declared myself the happiest I'd been all night. I hadn't slept in 24 hours, cut me some slack.

I intensely enjoyed being in the familiar warm glowing clutter of home, sleeping in my own bed, family time, a little sun and a little snow. I like New York, but Colorado is so very much home in more ways than one, and on Friday, my sister and I decided that we were going down to LoDo to enjoy the holiday decorations and more importantly, let me pay homage to the field. Henceforth my purple pilgrimage. It was something I needed to do; I hadn't been there since my birthday, August 24, and the amazing 6-5 comeback against the Nats.

It was a freezing day; the sky was gunmetal gray and the wind was sharp, snow drifting in the wind. Not exactly summer, or autumn; baseball season is gone now, held in stasis, even though I've been watching a lot of football in an attempt to make the offseason pass faster. I didn't care, though. We didn't mind the cold, and I was wearing my NL Champions shirt and had tucked a Rockies rally towel inside my jacket. Just for luck, even though I wasn't likely to need it.

We walked about six blocks from 14th and Curtis to 20th and Blake. I looked up at the light racks rising through the cold and fog and felt... well, it's hard to describe. Happy will have to do. The lettering "Coors Field," the purple mountain façade, the green gates, the whole place. I've said before that Coors is my happy place, and it is - no matter whatever else may be going on in my life, I come there and it doesn't matter. Summers spent there are my life, and in fact, I could quite happily live there. (Somehow, I don't think this would go down well with security).

My sister and I stopped in the empty brick plaza by the Player statue. I went to the closed gates and peered through at the bare concrete concourses, the just-visible green walls - I'd come after the last game of 2007, missed all the excitement, ecstasy, drama, and heartbreak at least in person, but had to get it from MLB.com on the other side of the country. I threaded my fingers through the green bars and just took a breath or two. Then we went onwards.

We headed into the Dugout store, and for a second, I really was in baseball heaven. It was so good to be back. I wandered around, bemoaned everything I couldn't buy, soaked myself in purple and black and the good memories, not the bad ones. I went to the door and peered out at the field - green outfield, brown infield rimmed with a frost of white snow. Empty, waiting for spring, just like me, just like us. "I guess they don't let the grass die after all," said my sister. I didn't answer; I didn't need to. I was really home.

We went back, looked around the store, found that they were doing a buy-one/get-one on the black 2007 MLB Playoffs sweatshirts, and I managed to talk her into taking advantage of it. Before we left the store, we pulled off our jackets and put the sweatshirts on beneath them, then bundled up against the Denver cold. We headed out into the gray day, and I was left feeling warm all through in more ways than one. Thanks, Rockies. I needed that one.

So here I am at home - I leave for New York again on Monday to finish out the last three weeks of the semester, and then I'm home again for a month. I'm still working on exorcising all the bad/dark thoughts, but I'm definitely climbing back. I'll do my best to stick around... I look forward to hearing from you all again.