Dungeons and Dragons saved my life

In April of 2022, I entered a period of disorder that would last for about 1.5 years. I was very close to death that entire time -- both physically (I wasn't sure I'd survive) and conceptually (as in I frequently wanted life to be over, and my mortality was very much "in my face" all the time.)

I've written about this time, and the events leading up to it, in a couple of other posts.

Noise in the Body

The beginning of this post on the recent Israel/Palestine conflict

In this situation, I wanted to do whatever I could each day to help myself, even just a little.

I kept up a variety of activities, even though in most cases they were brutally hard. Many of them were social: I continued family hangouts, seeing friends, that sort of thing.

However, one thing I invariably _knew_ would help was my regular Dungeons and Dragons night.

When this period of disorder started, I'd played in one ~1.5 year long campaign with this group, and we'd started another that had gone on for about a year at this point.

It was a bizarre experience to show up at D&D night when I had spent the day in suicidal ideation, or I hadn't slept for 3 days straight, or I'd just spent every moment of the day telling myself that I just needed to get through the next minute, the next hour... and to not think beyond that.

I'd almost always feel like I was going to have to bail, that I didn't have the presence to just be there and participate.

Invariably, a few minutes later, I'd hear myself laughing at something that had just happened. I'd volunteer for things; I'd speak up unprompted. None of these things were happening anywhere else in my life, but for whatever reason, some part of me woke up during these games. It was very much like the whole of me was watching some part perk up and feel lighter for a time.

Starting a game of my own

In December of 2022, I was starting to feel a bit more accustomed to life again, although it was still very touch-and-go. I noticed at a family gathering that my younger cousins were all facing great challenges, and I wondered if I could -- well, I don't know. I didn't feel like I was a particularly good person to be helping anyone, since I was struggling to look after myself. But part of me wanted to try.

I started a regular Dungeon World campaign with them, with me as the game master. I was very disconnected from this part of my family when we started, and now I feel like I'm friends with all of them. And I didn't have to do much to support them after all; they are doing OK on their own, and this regular meetup is a small part of that.

Dungeon World

Things I wonder

I'm not much of a "why" person. I think in many cases, "why" is a pretty arrogant question to ask, actually. But I do wonder what it is about table-top roleplaying that helped me get some space from the horror I was living in, in a way that *nothing else* did.

Another thing I find curious, in a happy way; I took a lot more of myself into the game than I have previously. My D&D character is a Drow Shadow Monk, whose master was a black dragon. This dragon knew he had an evil nature, but sought to distance himself from it, and so became some sort of Zen/Chan master to all sorts of creatures who themselves were born into "evil" environs.

During this period, our party went into some campaign-equivalent of Hell. Everyone there was condemned to suffer forever. Being closely acquainted with constant suffering, I wanted to help them! But to help them, I felt I must first get to know them.

After several sessions, I made a vow that, when the adventure was over, I would return to Hell to open a school, in the hopes of helping these folks to find a way to live well despite their past and circumstance -- the same way that my dragon master had done for me. I demanded a portal key from the God that runs the place so that I could return when our quest was done. My character still carries it around, and he's very protective of it.

It's all in good fun, but I found it amusing that everyone in the group interpreted my actions as "evil." I'm sure my reputation wasn't helped by taking that giant hell-trident from a planar demon and getting the blacksmith of the underworld to reforge it into a malevolent staff for me, but pretty much any of my actions that suggested I could relate to the people of Hell was seen as me going off the rails.

But for me, it was very much my life. There was something that connected with me deeply in this silly, absorbing abstraction of Hell. I felt like the campaign was part of what helped me come to terms with living in a real-life version of it -- and with voluntarily returning of my own accord.

Next

I'm doing much better now. That may not be the case forever, but it is for right now.

I love GMing Dungeon World, and I'll continue to do so. I especially love Dungeon Worlding with my family, and I hope we can keep it up for years to come.

I volunteered to GM the next D&D campaign with my regular group. I feel really lucky to have been invited to play with them, as they're great people. I feel a bit spooked about DMing a D&D campaign because it's so rules-y, but I think a lot of my Dungeon World GMing has helped me see that I'm quite good at making sure that:

I just create the setting, and let the players drive the story

I prep a little, and improv a lot

There are so many good tools for helping with improv in D&D -- even just simple things like encounter creators that help you balance things so you're not always accidentally slaughtering the players-- that I feel good about this now. Plus, the group is super easy-going and super helpful. If I get the chance to do it, I think I'll have fun.

It's strange to me that a thing that is so ... well, silly... has helped me through these times. And I'm very grateful for it.