Dungeons & Dissociation
It’s rare that I experience something new related to my mental health, especially since I’ve been living with OCD for a full quarter-century and PTSD for nearly a decade. But last week during my Dungeons & Dragons session, I found myself experiencing a symptom of PTSD that I had never felt before.
I was sitting at the table with my friends, just like every week, when the DM told me that he wanted to turn off the lights, and I should pick a scented candle to illuminate the space. I picked a peach one and he set it in the center of the table, then explained that my character was going to have a dream scene.
This isn’t unusual in our campaign - multiple characters have either prophetic or interactive dreams - but I knew this one was different as soon as the DM leaned over the flame and started to yell at me that I’d done something wrong.
Instantly, I felt defensive. The DM was role-playing as a powerful devil, which I knew, but even so, I felt highly uncomfortable. He was up in my space, yelling, stern, scolding me for something that I had to do in order to keep the party together. Nothing I said seemed to make a dent in his anger, even though my character has very high levels of charisma and that usually works. He then had me roll a die to see if he could be persuaded, but I needed to roll an 18 or above on a 20-sided die to even have a chance.
I rolled a 10, and he explained that my character faced horrible pain before waking up transformed into a hideous creature.
As he detailed the changes, a strange feeling came over me. I felt like I had the urge to panic, but it was almost as if it was locked behind a glass wall. I could see it, but I couldn’t access it - or any other emotion. I just blankly stared ahead, feeling like my brain had left my body entirely and was just off on its own somewhere. This was extremely scary, but I couldn’t quite feel the fear - that was locked away too.
It didn’t take long for the DM to notice that something was wrong. He asked me if I needed a break, and I nodded, then finally spoke - asking him to turn the lights back on.
When the lights came back on, I felt like my brain came back to my body. The feelings of panic and upset returned in full force and I started to cry.
The DM said that we were going to stop playing for the night and just process this. I was afraid and ashamed - I don’t like to be mentally weak in front of my friends, in case they decide that I’m not worth being friends with if I’m too complicated - but I couldn’t hide it any longer.
I told him that I had been triggered by several of the things that happened in the conversation with the devil. The darkness and firelight accentuated the fact that he was looming over me, angry. I felt helpless not only in the encounter, but in determining the fate of my character. I felt like I couldn’t consent to what was happening, I had no agency as a player or as a character, and I started to spiral in a strange way I’ve never encountered before.
When I told my therapist about this, she told me that I had dissociated. This is an out-of-body experience when reliving certain types of trauma or experiencing too many triggering things at once. I came to realize that many of the physical changes the DM gave to my character were things that were directly tied to my medical trauma and also to the way I had been writing about childhood experiences recently, back when I thought that my OCD made me akin to a monster.
I reached out to the DM, who was deeply apologetic, and we spent hours talking through what would be the best way to undo the damage that had been done both in and out of the game. I was able to choose what changes I was okay with physically, as well as start my character on a new path to get out of the deal with this devil altogether. He also assured me that any further interactions would take place in normal lighting with no looming or yelling.
Even though I was ashamed of dissociating, I was so glad that I have finally found people who I could tell something like this to and they would want to help instead of run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. The whole group rallied around me and I felt incredibly supported.
My therapist described this as a “corrective experience” - I experienced a situation that was like something before (displaying mental illness openly around friends) but instead of being rejected, I was accepted for being exactly who I am, brain and all. This response enabled me to feel powerful both in and out of character and I believe my D&D campaign will continue to be the wonderful experience it has been for the last two years.
Ellie, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.