Tabletop and therapy

I often wonder if it's the multiple years and courses of therapy that caused me to drop from two long-term Dungeons & Dragons campaigns in the span of a month early last year. After all, while the game itself can be remarkably self-revelatory and therapeutic, there's no substitute for the real thing - and once you've been through a few rounds in the mental health octagon, it tends to change how you see things.

There's a small kernel of truth in the joke that being a chronic illness patient gives you an honorary medical degree. You learn to observe patterns in yourself, to document, to treat or seek treatment as you can. The danger is that this honorary degree only works for analyzing your own experiences, and applying it to others doesn't always work even when done with the utmost kind intentions.

It wouldn't be kind or even sensible to try to pathologize my erstwhile tablemates. Just like they didn't know all of the stuff I deal with, I don't know all of their ish, and analysis without factual context is basically gossip. It's not a decent human thing to do, so I won't indulge.

What I do know is that after multiple rounds of therapy, I abruptly got a clearer picture of what I won't put up with. If you're familiar with internet meme culture, you might be familiar with "Just Walk Out" by dasharez0ne:

It's the antidote to the sunk-cost fallacy and therapy helped me get to it. In a nutshell, if it's something that I've been doing for fun and it's not fun anymore, I don't have to keep doing it - in fact, it's better for me if I don't. If you've tried to communicate and you're not getting through... well, yeet. Toss out the entire thing and carry on smartly.

What I hate is that there's no way to apply this principle without seeming cold or callous. On the other hand, it's not worth being a people-pleaser if you're the only one who's hurting.

I've had no luck in finding a reliable D&D group since then. (And please don't ask me to try other systems. That's a boundary of mine; respect it and don't ask why it's there.) I don't mind boasting about what I bring to the table - but at the same time, for me to feel safe enough to bring my best, I need my time and boundaries to be respected. Basic human decency, right? What I've found is that apparently wanting that is tantamount to asking people to perform the seven labors of Heracles. Again, I won't pathologize, but it's exhausting.

I'm thisclose to going down to the local game store and flashing a little bit of ankle. Just got to find the right compression socks to keep the circulation issues at bay so that said ankle isn't frightening to look at.