Wil Wheaton's Blog, page 23

From the Vault: cant see useless

I wrote this in 2002, when I was just thirty-one. It feels like three lifetimes ago. So weird.

I’m proud of younger me, who wrote it. He’s struggling so much, he’s so afraid, and he won’t get help for his mental illness for a while, yet, so every day is just so hard. He just wants to raise his stepkids, love them the way he wasn’t loved, and have some kind of life with his wife, but a vindictive piece of shit just won’t stop trying to destroy all of their lives. He is trying so hard, and he feels like a failure, every minute of every day.

My heart hurts for the guy who wrote this, because I can remember exactly how he felt, but I’m also super proud of his refusal to give up, give in, or surrender. He fights for his wife, he fights for his family. He hasn’t learned how to fight for himself, but that will come, later.

He’s learning how to be a writer.

It’s an oppressively hot October afternoon. I have the worst writer’s block of my life. I can write a few words together, I can create one or two images, but I can’t connect them. I want to tell the story of the young girl who sees the carnival come to her small town, the girl who is just 18, and aware of her power over men, the girl who tries to use this power on a young ride operator so she can escape her small town. The girl who has her power turned back on her and ends the story crying in an empty field surrounded by torn tickets and cigarette butts.

I want to tell the story of the powerless man who watches his wife cry herself to sleep at night. The man who can’t provide for his family, the man who can’t protect them from the Bogeyman. The man who wanders his empty house at night, looking for the joy he knows once lived there. The man who waits for exhaustion to claim him in the deep of night, and give him a brief reprieve from his sadness.



The stories sit cross a river of doubt and frustration, and the ferryman demands a payment I don’t have. I decide to walk down the shore, in search of a bridge.



I find myself in Old Town Pasadena, in front of Hooters, where this whole journey began. Maybe my muse is inside.



I walk in and find the place filled with middle-aged businessmen who drink beer and leer at the young waitresses over fish sandwiches. A young girl with hair so bleached it looks like straw says, “Welcome to Hooters!”



“Can I get food at the bar?” I ask.



“Of course!”



“Thanks,” I say, and take a seat.



The waitress working the bar appears to be about the same age as me, in stark contrast to the other girls who look like they’re all in their early 20s.
There are heavy bags beneath her tired and sad eyes.



“What can I get you?” she asks.



“A Guinness and a cheeseburger,” I say.



She turns, and pours me a pint. It’s still settling when she puts it in front of me.



“Not many people drink Guinness in the middle of the day,” she says.



“Is that a fact?” I say. In my mind I’m Sam Spade or Phillip Marlowe, and I’m in a 1920s Hollywood speakeasy.



“It is,” she says, “I think this is the only pint I’ve poured all day.



“Well, I don’t like to drink beer I can see through,” I say, as I lift the now-settled glass to my lips.



Her laugh doesn’t make it to her eyes, but it’s still friendly. I find a kindred spirit in her sadness. We’re both in a place we didn’t expect to be. I bet I’m the first guy she’s waited on all day who hasn’t stared at her skimpy outfit while talking to her.



“Hey, honey, can we get another pitcher of Bud over here?” calls a guy in a George Zimmer signature suit at the corner of the bar. His tie is loose and he bounces his leg on the rail. It shakes under my foot. I don’t like that at all.



I look around the restaurant. I’ve never seen it this full during the day. John Fogerty tells me that there’s a bad moon on the rise.



“Sure,” she says, and walks down to the taps.



Two young girls turn heads as they walk in and sit at a table behind me. “Oh my god! Your eyebrows look so great!” the tall one says.



“Don’t they? I totally had them tattoo’d on,” she says.



I tune them out and count the rings down my glass: one . . . two . . . three.



Four.



I look down the bar and see Men’s Wearhouse and his business partners putting their best midlife crisis moves on the waitress — my waitress. Brown Suit stares at her chest while Blue Suit flashes a capped smile at her. She giggles and fusses with her hair, and fills their glasses.



“Hurry back!” Brown Suit says, as she walks back up the bar.



Five. I stare at the top of my beer. It looks like clouds over a black sky.



“So what do you do?” she asks.



” . . . I guess I’m a writer.”



“You guess you are, or you are?”



“I am. I’m blocked today.”



“By what?”



“The Bogeyman.”



“What’s that?”



“A convenient literary metaphor.”



“You are a writer.”



I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am.”



“Have you written anything I’ve read?” she asks. A loaded question.



“Probably not,” I say, “I wrote one, and the people who read it seem to like it, and I’m working on another one.”



“But you’re blocked today,” she says.



“Yeah. This place is sort of involved in my career choice, so I thought I’d come here and try to break the block.”



“How’s that working out for you?” she asks. A flicker of mirth passes her eyes.

“Well, at the very least, I’ll get a Guinness out of the deal.”

I want to hug that version of me, and tell him that, because of everything he’s enduring, because of everything he is doing to fight for us, I have a great life. He’s hurting so much, and he’s so afraid. He feels like giving up, all the time, and he often wonders if it’s all worth it.

It is.

Gratitude

I want to thank and celebrate all the first responders, front-line service workers, public health officials, doctors, nurses, and medical care providers who are risking their lives every single day. You are the heroes we need, and when this is all over, I hope there are massive public displays of gratitude for everything you are doing for us.

Radio Free Burrito Presents: Thoughts on the Worldstate by Henry Kuttner

I wasn’t planning on recording today, but while I was looking for something to record tomorrow, I found a thing that I loved so much, I couldn’t wait.

The story I chose is titled “Thoughts on the Worldstate”, and it was written by Henry Kuttner. It is from the Spring, 1940, issue of Futuria Fantastia, which was edited by Ray Bradbury. (Side note: if you’re looking for something to read, and you enjoy speculative fiction, I think you may like this issue of the magazine as much as I do. It’s a whole lot of fun to read, and the illustrations are pretty great.)

 

breathe, breathe in the air…

I don’t know about you, but I feel anxious and wound pretty tightly. It’s not great, Bob.

So I’m being the person I need in the world. This is for me, and for anyone who needs it:

Take a deep breath. Hold it and close your eyes for a few seconds.


Gently exhale and feel the breath leave your body. Inhale, and feel it come back in.


Relax your shoulders. You’re holding a ton of tension in your neck and shoulders and you’ve been doing it so long, you don’t even notice it.


You’re clenching your jaw, too. Open your mouth and take in a big breath. Feel that air nourish you and let the nourishment spread outward through your body, from your lungs to the tips of all your fingers and toes.

Repeat if you like, and then think of three things you are grateful for.

I am grateful for my health.
I am grateful I have enough.
I am grateful for the love and support of my wife and children.

This helped me unwind a little bit. Maybe it’ll help you, too.

Stay safe, stay healthy, and please choose kindness.

Radio Free Burrito Presents: The Ghost of Harrowby Hall

While I listen to medical professionals and practice self-quarantine at home, I’m making an effort to create and release free audio book shorts every few days. It’s a good way for me to stay connected to my creative self, when my everything else self is so anxious and scared, all it wants to do is hide under the blankets and play video games.

I’m doing what I can, to do use the skills I have during this pandemic in a way that is helpful. At first blush, creating entertainment seems kind of silly and pointless right now. People are dying, people are unemployed, and we’re all doing our best to not freak out, right? We need masks and PPE and ventilators, and a president who isn’t a fucking incompetent liar, who puts his personal accumulation of wealth and power ahead of the lives of the people he is supposed to lead.

Everyone does what they can in times of crisis. For someone who is a first responder, they know exactly what to do right now. It’s what they’ve dedicated their lives to. Same for medical professionals. Then we have the heroic efforts of the supermarket employees, package delivery employees, and local restaurants, who all know precisely what their call to public service is going to be during this crisis.

But what about entertainers? I mean, can you think of anything more useless? People are dying and you’re going to read me a story? Really?

…well, yeah. Because that’s all I can do. My skill set is limited to performing and entertaining. It’s not the path I would have chosen for myself, but it’s what I know how to do, and it’s something that I’m not terrible at. In fact, I’m pretty good at it (he says, knowing he would make different performance choices if he did this one again), and it seems like a waste to just crawl into a blanket fort right now, while everyone else is doing what they can to help.

So I’m going to entertain, the best that I can, because that’s what I know how to do. I mean, I still want to be entertained and distracted right now, maybe more than ever. There is nothing I look forward to these days as much as I look forward to Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune every night, because for an hour I get to forget that the world is on fire.

What if I could be to someone else what Jeopardy is to me? What if I used these skills I have to make some entertainment for anyone who wants it? It’s not the worst idea! I am by far not the worst!

I’m having fun doing this, and I’ll keep doing it as long as people are listening and want me to continue.

Today’s reading is The Ghost of Harrowby Hall. It’s a 19th century satirical ghost story with some great dialog.

 

Sunday afternoon with my family.

This whole pandemic is hard on everyone, in a lot of different ways. I’m incredibly lucky so far, and I don’t have to worry about food or going broke, but I’ve been *really* feeling how I don’t have loving, unselfish parents in my life who I can lean on, and get comfort from, while I do my best to get through all of this.


 


Yesterday, LeVar organized a Zoom thingy for all of us from TNG, because normally we would be together for Marina’s birthday, but obviously we can’t do that this year.


 


For about 90 minutes or so, we all hung out, visited with each other, loved each other, laughed our faces off, and felt connected, as a family.



I didn’t realize until long after we had ended the thing, just how much it meant to me to be with my family, the family that loves me unconditionally, unselfishly, simply because I exist. I’ve been so focused on being a reliable husband and father, I haven’t had a moment to exhale, and just be a son who is scared and anxious and needs parents to just tell him everything is going to be okay, and who will acknowledge that he’s doing the best that he can.


 


I got all of that from my Star Trek family, at a time when I didn’t even know just how much I needed it. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks, and yesterday, I exhaled for the first time.




 


And can I just take a moment to observe how totally cool it is that we were using a real technology to be together, a technology that we used to pretend was real, for our job. I can’t prove that video conferencing like this exists because of Next Generation, but I can certainly choose to believe that we played some part in inspiring the engineers who developed it.


 


Wherever you are, I hope you’re getting the love and support that you need and deserve. We’re all going to get through this, together.

Radio Free Burrito Presents: The Sun Goddess

I don’t want to commit myself to making full-on Radio Free Burritos right now, but I do want to stay creative and productive while I listen to experts who are not fucking idiots and stay home until the doctors tell me it’s safe for everyone to go back to the Old Ways of three weeks ago.

I love narrating audiobooks. I love that my job is to read and perform, to bring stories to life, for people who want to be distracted and entertained. It’s a real blessing that I get to combine things that I love, and do them for my job.

So while I’m staying home and feeling grateful af that I can afford to be out of everyone’s way for at least several months, I want to do something, however small, to give people who are stressed out, overwhelmed, or just bored, something to listen to while they catch their breath.

And as long as this works (meaning I enjoy it and people want me to keep doing it), I’ll be reading short stories from the public domain every few days, and uploading them to my SoundCloud.

I read these cold, and I don’t do any editing, so you’ll hear me mess up, you’ll hear background noise, and it won’t be as polished as the work I’ve done for Big Audiobook, but it’s free, so back off, man.

Anyway, here’s today’s. I hope you enjoy it.

A Japanese myth, published in 1918.

if you don’t read my facebook, here’s what you’ve missed recently

For posterity, and for my personal ownership of stuff I’ve written, this is a collection of posts I’ve recently shared on my Facebook thingy.

I’ve been at this long enough to feel like posting on Facebook is … kind of icky, from my EFF-loving, anti authoritarian, fuck-all-Fascists point of view, but the shitty reality is that Facebook is where people are these days. When I post on Facebook, I’ll interact with hundreds of people, just like I did in the early 2000s right here in this old blog. But when I post here, it’s crickets. So I’ll go where the people are, but I’ll also x-post some of that here, for anyone in the future who cares to read it.

Okay. Here they are. From my Facebook, over the last week or so:

Reminder that your self care is really important. If you live with anxiety or some other super fun mental illness like I do, you may be feeling extra stress and pressure right now. That’s totally normal and valid!

It’s okay to turn off the news, to walk away from the information fire hose for awhile, and simply … exist. Read a book, have a tea or a coffee, play a game, take a walk if you’re able to do that while maintaining appropriate physical distance from your fellow humans. Draw something! Listen to some music!

Whatever you do, the news will be there when you get back. And, honestly? Things are changing so quickly, it’s okay to miss a few hours of breaking news updates.

I wonder if I’m writing this mostly for myself? I feel like I have a responsibility to be productive, and to stay informed so I can be the best husband and father I can be right now, and it can feel a little (or a lot) overwhelming.

and

Is this only funny to me?

I want to check in with a friend. So I type “Just thinking about” and I intend to type “you and [her husband]” but I see that the word “your” is in the predictive text thing. And I just *know* what it is going to lead to, but I have to see for myself, you know? So I tap it, and sure enough, the next word it suggests is “sexy” followed by “body” followed by the little smiley emoji with heart eyes.

I audibly groan and delete the predicted text, sanitize my phone’s screen, just to be safe, and send my intended text message, without the suggested, and thoroughly inappropriate, predicted text.

I’m not shaming anyone who texts that way, but I don’t, and I CERTAINLY do not text that to my friends.

It was just amusing af to me that this series of words gets typed enough that my keyboard app’s predictive text thingy was like I WILL HELP YOU, HUMAN. YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO SEND A CREEPY TEXT AND IT IS MY TIME TO SHINE.

Uh, no. Thanks. I’m good, predictive text.

and

Y’all who are on the front lines, going to work, ensuring that our society continues to function, even while everything is so disrupted, are major heroes.

I am so grateful for your dedication and your commitment to making sure your fellow humans have a place to go, and a person to talk to, when they need it.

Thank you!

and

A random person flipped out at Anne on Twitter, because she took a walk by herself, stayed far and safely away from anyone else, and had the nerve to post a picture of herself online while she was out.

She’s been getting all sorts of criticism for pretty much everything she does, from tons of random strangers online who seem to keep forgetting (or choosing to ignore) that she’s a grown-ass woman who isn’t doing anything wrong.

This one person in particular made me really, really, REALLY mad. I’m stressed af. I’m wound up as tightly as I’ve been wound up in maybe my whole life, and I feel like I could just EXPLODE if the wrong person says the wrong thing to me … or to the most important person in my entire world.

But I took a deep breath, listened while Anne expressed how frustrated she is feeling with people being shitty to her online, and I tried to maintain some perspective, tried to understand where this person was maybe coming from. I concluded that they feel afraid, and out of control, so they are lashing out, to give that emotional energy a place to go. It’s not okay that this person and so many people like them are telling a fully-grown woman how to live her life. It’s not cool to act as a gatekeeper, diminishing someone’s experience because *you* have decided that someone *else* has a worse experience.

I have the luxury of not being the stressed out mom and wife who is doing her best to get through a *really* scary and terrifyingly uncertain time. I have the luxury of not being the woman who was, once again, lectured by a man about how she is allowed to exist. Check that. I have the *privilege* of being a man, so that gives me an opportunity to depersonalize what happened to Anne, and use it as a teaching moment.

I’m doing my best to be the person I need in the world, and this is what I need today:

*gestures wildly at everything* all this is really hard for everyone, and I have to believe that everyone is dealing with it as best as they can. Yes, even the people who freak out at you online because you walked your dog (while safely staying 6 feet away from everyone). Yes, even the people who show up in every thread to act like this is a contest, gatekeeping who is and isn’t allowed to express frustration, boredom, or fear.

We are all scared, for a whole huge list of reasons that may all be wildly different, and humans don’t make the best choices when we are acting from a place of fear.

I’m scared, and I’m not going to pretend that I’m not. I would be a h*cking sociopath if I *wasn’t* scared. Basic math says someone I care about is eventually going to get sick, and may even die. The jackass president of my country makes things worse every time he opens his lie hole. The work I expected to be doing right now has all been pushed back by months, and I suddenly find myself staying at home, instead of having this amazing adventure, doing work I’m so excited to do.

But I’m not panicking. There is plenty of food, even if some things are scarce right now. I’m safe in my home and in my community.

I am remembering to focus on the things I *can* control, so I don’t obsess (and feel disempowered by) the things I can’t control. I’m listening to public health officials, trusting the scientists, and social distancing. I’m planning my meals with my family, and we’re going to the store as infrequently as we can. (And I wish I could go to the store more often, because a little bit of normal in all of this is SUPER IMPORTANT for mental health. I’m choosing to be grateful when I *do* go to the store.)

And I am doing my best, in my way, to be a helper, because I *need* to see helpers in the world, I need to know they are there. I need to believe that, for every person who is a jerkass online, there are a dozen out there right now, working in grocery stores and delivery services and hospitals and research labs.

Making the choice to be a helper has been really good for my mental health, in countless ways.

Can you be a helper, too?

Let’s do our best to choose kindness, patience, and empathy.

Let’s do our best to be gentle with ourselves, and with others.

Let’s be compassionate.

We are all in this together. This is, literally, our entire planet going through something scary, together, at the same time. And the thing is, it doesn’t care if you’re rich or what country you were born in or who you love. In the eyes of COVID-19, we are all equal, and we need to start acting like it. We need to take care of each other. The only way we are going to get through this, is by working together.

And let us remember that everyone is dealing with this as best as they can, and let us not be a dick to our fellow humans.

Thanks for listening.

and:

Another X-post from my Tumblr Ask Me thingy:

QUESTION: Would you be willing to donate your voice talents to an indie podcast for an episode or two? Should we contact your agents or would you be willing to handle it on your own? (The voice actors don’t get paid as most of us are doing for the love of it and what money we do make has thus far gone into promotion and production costs.) At the very least, would you be willing to listen to the show and mention it on social media if you like it?

ANSWER: I love that you asked me, and I’m going to give you an answer in public that I hope doesn’t turn too many people off: I *love* that you are being creative and making amazing new art. That is wonderful, and I wish you all the success in the world. When I was younger, I did projects like yours all the time and I loved it.

But I can’t be part of this for you, and I want to explain why.

I get asked all the time to donate my work, my time, my experience, etc., to projects, and I always have to decline. It’s not because I don’t believe in you, or want to support you. It’s because I’m working full-time as it is, and any spare time, energy, or creative inspiration I have really needs to go into my own projects, as I continue to build my career as a voice performer, narrator, and (hopefully) novelist.

I don’t feel your ask is unreasonable, at all, and I’m *thrilled* you had the courage to reach out. I’m also honored to be thought of as someone you want to work with. I hope you understand the practical realities of my life, and I hope you aren’t put off by my need to decline your kind invitation.

As to your final question, I rarely listen to podcasts these days, and I struggle to make time to listen to audiobooks. You can send me a link when it’s done, and I’ll make an effort to give you feedback, but I can’t promise anything.

I wish you the best of luck! I hope you’re the next Welcome To Nightvale.

and

Another question from my Tumblr ask thingy: So, I’m sorry if this is something that you’ve answered/been asked before. But I’m trying to start a DnD campaign. I’ve been playing since I was 4 (so about 23 years now), but I’ve never tried to run a campaign. I’m having a hard time trying to figure out where to start and staying on track with it. But I want to introduce my roommates to the game and I want it to be as fun and magical for them as it was for me when I first played. Do you have any advice? Thanks so much! I hope you’re doing well.

My answer, which I’ve edited a little bit to add some more thoughts:

When I was younger, I always put a ton of pressure on myself to write my own modules, build my own world, and do all that work that I wasn’t really able to do (and didn’t want to do). I have no idea why I felt that way, but it wasn’t until I was teaching RPGs to my own children about 15 years ago that I realized it was time wasted.

So with that in mind…

Don’t start out with the core books and one of the epic adventure books. You’ll all get there, eventually, but that’s a LOT to handle when you’re running a campaign for the first time, or playing the game for the first time. Players and DMs can *absolutely* start there, but I don’t recommend it.

I recommend starting out with the 5e Starter Set, or the 5e Essentials set. Both give you everything you need, for the players and for the DM, to play and experience everything that makes D&D awesome. They both take the players through several levels, and the writers take time throughout the whole thing to tell the DM not just what you’re supposed to do, but *why*you need to do it, to make the game work. You can sort of lean how to run a campaign this way, from some of the best DMs in the business.

But they do not overwhelm you with information, which is what sets them apart from the core books, for a new player. The important, foundational rules are all there, but they are streamlined just enough to prevent overwhelming new players with information they don’t really need. Nobody who ever plays them (and I’ve played them both) will ever feel like they are playing a slimmed-down version of the game. It’s just cleaner and easier to follow.

and finally:

I *need* to be creative, and until I have the creative energy to write my own stories, I’m going to do a thing I’m pretty good at, and narrate some public domain short stories.

As long as people are listening, I’ll keep recording. Your feedback is important to me.

Okay, that just about catches me up, here.

walked upon the edge of no escape

My friend, Will Hindmarch, is a brilliant writer and game designer. He’s one of the smartest people I know, and his weekly newsletter always challenges and inspires me.

In this week’s newsletter, he talks about playing a videogame called CONTROL, which by coincidence, I began playing over the weekend.

I wanted to share some thoughts here that I shared with Will privately, because I’m interested to hear your thoughts on my thoughts.

Will said:

> As of this week, I’m also playing Control again, and glad to be doing so.

Here’s my reply to him:

This game is beguiling me. I have only faced three boss battles, and I’ve nearly quit during each one. I love the story, I love the visual and audio design, and I love the puzzles. But boy do I hate it when it becomes a video game with a boss battle, especially when it takes two dozen or so runs at it to get the shape of the level, and you have to sit through 30 second loading screens every time you die.

It’s like I’m intrigued by the story, but my skills as a FPS gamer just aren’t where they need to be for me to get through those video game bits without ragequitting at least once a day.

I had a thought about Control: I’ve been playing RDR2 since it came out. It’s literally the only game I’ve played, I’ve even replayed it, with a replay of RDR1 in between. I have been able to adjust the difficulty setting so the game really holds my hand and makes the video game portions of the story simple and satisfying to get through. In a way, I’m getting to live inside competence porn, right? And I’m a middle-aged white dude in that game, which is significant when I compare it to Control, which is REALLY FUCKING HARD … and the protagonist is a woman.

So I’m thinking about how REALLY easy life is for middle-aged white dudes, especially when we compare our lives to the lives of young women. My current experience has become a metaphor, which has been intellectually stimulating and challenging (in a really good way).

In RDR2, I have (effectively) unlimited ammo, (effectively) unlimited health items, and because I only cared about the story and exploring the world (sidebar: riding my horse all the way across the map, stopping only to engage photo mode, like I’m a tourist in the old world, is really satisfying and fun), I adjusted the difficulty to reflect my personal difficulty level in the real world, which is to say I put it on the easiest setting.

When I started CONTROL, I immediately noticed that I have to manage my ammo, and health is WAY more vulnerable than it is in RDR2. There’s no computer assist in aiming; I have to do it all myself (and I am NOT good at it). Mechanically, I have to work really hard to kite around the bosses without dying, and the game is just totally unforgiving when I fuck up.

Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I feel like the experience I’ve had with these two games is a really strong metaphor for the different experiences men and women have in the world, online and off.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense outside of my head, but now that I’m thinking about the hours I spent playing Control yesterday, and thinking about how, even though it can be REALLY hard and REALLY frustrating, it’s also compelling. I’m not entirely sure it’s worth the effort, with my limited free time (when I ragequit last night, I said, out loud in an empty room: “This is such a waste of my time. I am not having fun and I don’t know why I’m even giving this goddamn game my time,” and yet here I am, thinking about trying it again today.

This is a new experience for me, to be seriously challenged in a game and not know if I’ll be able to overcome the challenges that exist between me and the resolution of the story. After nearly three years of something that’s less gaming and more competency porn, I’m finding out if I can actually rise up to meet a challenge (and if it’s worth the effort) that I can’t skip or have help overcoming.

I feel like it’s a powerful and meaningful metaphor, and it’s caused me to examine and reflect upon my privilege, and I appreciate that. At the same time, I feel like the point of games is to be fun, and this game isn’t really “fun” the way RDR2 has been “fun” for me.

But I don’t think that’s the game’s fault. My son is 30 and he loves games like this that are REALLY hard (he loves something called Dark Souls that reduced me to tears in about thirty seconds). Most of the games I looked at when I was trying to decide what to play instead of RDR2 seem to fit into this difficulty curve, which I suspect may just be the state of games today, and I’m an old man who is outside the demo.

There’s another metaphor for ya.

Maroon, yellow, blue, gold and gray

Everyone who lives with mental illness experiences it in our own way. For me, my Depression and Anxiety sort of hang out just beyond the scope of my peripheral vision, occasionally telling me they are there by casting a shadow over my life. Most of the time, it’s just that shadow, but other times, they team up and they just totally block out the Sun, and all the light in my life.

That’s how the last week or ten days have been, triggered by this complex PTSD episode that knocked me down really hard, and then stood on my chest wearing golf spikes. It was not awesome.

This thing that happened to me was brand new. As an adult, I hadn’t really, truly, fully experienced the totality of the pain, fear, sadness, and helplessness I felt as a child. I’d sort of pushed all that to the side, in the name of empowerment, and charged ahead with my life, to the best of my ability. What I didn’t know until this last week is that the stuff I pushed to the side was just sort of waiting for me to be ready to confront and deal with it, when it blocked out the Sun and scorched the Earth around me.

But I did the work that I know how to do. I allowed myself to feel all the things I needed to feel. I had long conversations with my sister, who has been so supportive and understanding through all of this. I had long conversations with myself, and I talked to the little boy I was. It felt kind of silly and a little “woo woo” to do that, but he needed to know that I love him, I see him, I can’t protect him from these terrible people, but I’m going to do the best I can to hold his hand and help him through everything, even if it’s just in my memories. He is not alone now, even though he felt so very alone, then.

And it really helped. It really helped to acknowledge my pain and my recovery. It helped to remind myself that healing is a journey, and some parts of the path are more difficult than others.

My sister gave me some really good advice, my Godmother and my cousin reminded me that I am and always have been loved by them, even when I wasn’t feeling unconditional love and approval from my parents. My wife held me while I cried, then she held me while I ugly cried, then she held me while I sobbed uncontrollably.

My pain and my trauma is real, and it is lasting, but I know that I’m going to heal it all, eventually, because I am surrounded by love and support.

Some housekeeping, after the jump:

A new episode of Ready Room was released today!

If you can’t watch it at YouTube, CBS has put the show all over the place, including at IGTV, which works worldwide.

I talked to the Fresh Air of Canada, Q, on CBC Radio:

In Wheaton’s interview with q guest host Laurie Brown, he talks about surviving the trauma of child stardom and building a career out of the hobbies he loves.

“My reality is, I don’t love acting that much,” says Wheaton. “Being an actor was not my dream. I don’t know what my dream was. I never got to figure it out.”

Finally, Andy Weir, author of The Martian, and I sat down together to talk about our work, individually and together, on the audiobook I recorded for him and Audible last year. It’s a fun conversation.