I would disable comments on this post but for some reason I’m thick this morning and can’t figure out how. Any comments I feel aren’t relevant or respectful will be terminated with extreme prejudice.
So I came across this on Twitter. But first, a quick caveat.
This is a rant. It is not a rant aimed at @GMRaphi in particular, even though I’m using his Tweet as a springboard for the rant. I’m taking issue with what he’s saying — and okay, with his generation (or what I assume to be his generation) — but not with who he is. Because a) that would be a dick move and b) I don’t know the man but he looks like a decent chap.
And an extra caveat a few days later. Yes, it’s all generalisations, that’s what a rant is. Do I think entirely in generalisations? Do I assume what I’m saying applies to each and every possible situation? Of course not. Do me the courtesy of understanding that and understanding that a rant is, by its very nature, a complaint against a general order of things. Yeesh.
I can't really see where the cell phone at gaming table hate is coming from. Some scenes are not for all the PCs. Or all the players.
— GM Raphi (@GMRaphi) September 5, 2016
I couldn’t find a way to respond in 140 characters so here we go.
I also know that responding in any way to what could just as easily have been a troll on some random forum is largely pointless. I don’t know the chap in question, he might just want to be provocative (because I’ve never done that, nope), and I just happened to come across some Twitter friends’ responses. If it’s a troll, responding is useless. If it’s a generation thing, responding is equally useless because we have the cellphone-grafted generation that prefers to read a thing on social media than to be at the thing and we have the pre-cellphone generation that still understands what it’s like to attend a thing and not just for the sake of filming it on your iPhone — and never the twain shall meet.
It’s ironic. Not so long ago, I was of the generation of young assholes that were destroying all that was good and kind about the world and the reason we couldn’t have nice things. Now I’m the one complaining about the young whippersnappers.
Except in this case, I’m right. If you’re going to attend a tabletop game (or a virtual tabletop game for that matter), ask if it’s ok to use your phone or tablet or whatever. Some GMs won’t have a problem with it. I sure as hell will. And if it’s not OK, then don’t pout, don’t sulk (no matter how good you millennials are at the whole passive aggressive thing), just fucking put your fucking phone away and BE AT THE THING like a normal human being. Show some interest in someone else other than as a link to your own coolness.
In short: don’t be a dick.
I originally posted this on Facebook and thought that was more than enough exposure, but I have a feeling that reaching out to others (and emulating the courage I see in folks who do it routinely) about this mental health thing might be helpful for me, in some weird ‘I don’t quite get it but it seems to have some Zen-like benefit in there somewhere’ kind of way.
And as someone who made it FORTY-SEVEN FUCKING YEARS without a diagnosis (OK, maybe 42, I remember being 7 and having issues with sounds and textures, lights and emotions), if posting this sparks any kind of recognition in even one other person, it’ll be worth it. Because as the smart young lady over at Eating Off Plastic says,
I’m almost certain nobody that has this condition actually enjoys it
Everyone has some kind of sensory sensitivity, or certainly everyone I’ve ever met. But please don’t confuse that with Sensory Processing Disorder (or Sensory Integration Disorder, which I somewhat prefer). Crank ALL your senses, including the emotional ones, up to 13, 24/7/365 (yes, even while asleep) x 4 decades and then let’s talk.
And I’m high-functioning. God only knows what it’s like to have this and not be. On the other hand, my very high-functioningnessabilityation is probably to blame for my rather elevated* levels of anxiety, but oh well. We’re dealing with that.
So here’s the text of the Facebook post, shared a bit more widely than the close family and friends I target over there. Now please excuse me while I go hide under a rock and pretend I didn’t do this.
Long post about my mental health incoming.
Today I had my last permitted consultation with the amazing and wonderful Cognitive Behavioral Health lady at the 377th Medical Group in ABQ. An hour later my referral to UNM Neuropsychology (which had been languishing on the desk of my newly-promoted-to-Captain Primary Care Manager [aka Doctor for Euros]) came through, so that will be the next step.
I am still rather uncomfortable discussing all this, even at the remove offered by Facebook, but wonderful CBH lady says it’s fine if I want to share and not unhealthy, so here we are, just to keep my friends and some family updated.
It seems my sensory integration issues may be at the root of pretty much everything that’s eating this Gilberta Grape, though it took 4 decades to get a diagnosis. Even the vertigo. Certainly the anxiety, and possibly the self-esteem issues (which are way worse than most people know because, as usual, ‘high-functioning’. Am starting to really hate that term).
And I may be further on the autism spectrum than I thought, given that I never expected to be on it at all, even on the cool, look-at-all-these-smart-people Asperger’s end of it. As a single example, turns out my issues with feelings (having them, expressing them, dealing with them, doing anything other than pretending they’re not there and can be intellectualised into something else) are not uncommon on that spectrum.
It’s all very, very weird. The diagnosis fits like a shoe you never realised you were wearing, or maybe like a shoe you’ve spent 40 years pretending you weren’t wearing. So it makes sense, but it’s weird. I’m not quite sure how to deal with it. I can’t just ignore it because it won’t go away and it’s affecting my life so negatively right now that I must choose to do something about it.
The next step (see how the shoe metaphor works for me here) is UNM’s neuropsychology department, assuming they accept my case, and Occupational Therapy for what I’ve got. Whatever that really is. It’s difficult to get information as someone diagnosed in adulthood because most of it is aimed at kids, but I’m digging out resources here and there.
And I’m not alone out there. Which is helpful, in a distant kind of way. Here’s one really fun blog that is more baldly honest about *ulp* feelings than I could be in a million years. [See Eating Off Plastic link above. Come on, scroll back. You can do it.]
* I originally wrote ‘insane levels’ but then I figured that wasn’t terribly sensitive. Because I care about that – actually no, I don’t, but I do care about not calling myself crazy. BTDT, it’s not healthy.
I have been hit by work. It’s a lucrative condition but not one that’s conducive to blogging, as though I needed any excuses not to blog in the last few years.
Eh, it’s not just that. My mental health issues mean I have no desire to communicate with people and no faith that I’d have anything interesting to say even if I wanted to. (For those who have asked: I’m fine – really. It’s being handled. But ‘being handled’ still means I don’t want to interact with people at the moment and I’m giving myself permission to be that way.)
Whoops, almost forgot about this and now it’s almost too late. So, in 10 words or less:
I love the tactile feel of dice but software is easier.
(You can’t beat dice. Actually I have some dice from TishToshTesh that you could use to beat someone with, because they’re heavy Steampunk metal thingies that threaten to break my glass desk every time I use them. I love them.)
(But still. When you’re playing with an online group, as I do a lot these days, rolling dice on the desk in front of you when nobody else is in the same room doesn’t cut it. So yeah. Dem bones when I can, dem 1s and 0s when I must.)
Me, still partly in character, after last night’s Hollow Earth Expedition session run by The Black Campbell:
“Next time I take a photo of a charging allosaurus, I’ll be sure to take the flashbulb out!”
Life lessons come in the most unusual ways…
I’d never encountered this before but I came across it on The Reef and it sounds like it might be something fun*.
Here’s the infographic. I am told I should share as widely as possible, so this is me sharing.
I’m not in the mood to share anything else at this point so that’s your lot. Now fuck off my lawn.
* Actually it sounds like a commitment I don’t want to make and will have trouble keeping, thanks mental health issues, but aside from that crap it sounds like it could be fun, or might once have been fun for the person I have lost somewhere along the line. Maybe this will be helpful.
THE POOL PLAYERS. SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL. We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.
It’s a holiday here in the US so I figure almost nobody will see this — which is fine given that it’s entirely admin and has almost no nutritional value. I’m still kind of sick with this cthonian parasite of a cold so I’m at home doing exciting stuff like rearranging my blog pages. Yeehaw.
I’ve added some pages…
…and removed some pages…
One of these days I’ll update and reorganise the blogroll but that’s really too much like hard work. Maybe I should be like some of those other bloggers out there and just be so fucking cool that I don’t link to anybody, they all need to link to me, bitches.
And that’s it. Go back to work/picnic/cookout/sleep. 🙂
I’ve had a cold for the last few days and am feeling sorry for myself.
My nose is running
My chest is full of crackle
Ah, pity poor me
No theme today. And no more words. I have some cough syrup to take and Netflix to watch.