The hero, in living her own life, in being true to herself, radiates a light by which others may see their own way.” — Laurence Boldt
Strap in, folks, this one’s going to be long, and it’s going to get deep. Ok, perhaps I could have worded that better, but this post will require a hefty dose of humor to keep everyone regulated. As I was writing the draft for this, I realized how perfectly-aligned my life is to a Save-the-Cat beat sheet. And I’m living in the final image. (I’ve copywritten my life, already, so don’t even think about it, creeper fan). Since it fit so well in to the beat, I’ve chosen to write it as such. So sit back, don’t jump to conclusions, and enjoy the show…er…read.
The Opening Image
Once upon a time, there lived me….who still lives, but once upon a time I lived a different life: a life driven into chaos by several forms of trauma at an early age. I pushed myself out of it, got a therapist, got better, made $77,000 a year, or some astronomically high number like that for the time, and then my uncle died and I had to come home and [redacted for everyone’s sanity] I spent a decade living alone in a house owned by a relative who, along with another relative, put me through acute narcissistic and financial abuse. I went from doing really well for myself to not having any rules, no structure, no friends, a family that was demonized, and a pervasive desire to not exist. So I drank not to exist.
Theme Stated
I’m really not a fan of having heroes. The whole idea murks up the water between respect and reverence. Alas, nobody is impervious to the need for one, should the moment arise. In my darkest hour, the universe gave me the most epic antihero — and I learned that I didn’t need a hero, I needed her light illuminate the water so I could see my own reflection and remember who I really am.
Set-Up
There’s this person who used to be my hero. If you read my blog, you may know who it is. Or maybe not, I’ve been pretty vague about it. This story is about how through their light, I learned to take on such a prestigious title as “Hero” — but to myself. This whole time, I kept looking for them, I kept trying to reach, and keep the faith that, in spite of our ever-changing moods and circumstances, my hero would still be there. Instead, I learned it was me in that role the whole time.
Catalyst
Until one day, I got real money for my birthday, and bought a copy of a video game that included a certain red-skinned tiefling barbarian. Her demeanor and ‘let’s go serve justice and eat pizza later’ attitude had me hook line and sinker. The acting was absolutely on point, and I had to know more about the person behind the voice. My curiosity led me to a podcast in which the actor shared a bit of their life story, and in that interview, they casually shared something so profound that it resulted in me completely destroying my already shattered life in order to find a better one — and ultimately succeeding.
End of story. Thanks for reading. I jest, carry on:
Debate
It took a month for the words to finally set in. “You’ve already done the work. You’re okay. You are in an oppressive environment. It’s your environment, it’s not you. Find your people if you can.” I did try to stop my evil ways on my own until I nearly killed myself three different ways in the same night (not intentionally, that I am aware of, though I wonder). The day after that is when I started trying. It was April 22, 2024. I stopped smoking that day, but sadly, finding my people was only half of the solution.
I got more comfortable in this person’s presence, finding comfort and safety in the chatroom during their streams, enjoying the interviews and conversations, laughing at the cute little flowers and lizard waddles of one of the games they played, and becoming comfortable with people who were not mean. I found these streams as a source of stability, of consistence where at the time, I had none.
Soon, this hero had a decision to make of their own. They had to stop streaming and focus on their career. It was a sudden announcement, and an unexpected one. I bid them farewell for now, and “we’ll be here when you get back.” I’m not going to lie, I was scared. Terrified even. This was a groundbreaking event. Both full of promise for them, and uncertainty for me. I’m an adult, I thought. I can do this.
But my life change wasn’t over yet. I needed to leave my oppressive environment, too. Not having streams to tuck myself into, I listened to that first podcast at least 50 times before deciding to turn my car into a sardine can full of as much of my stuff as I could pack into it, and I moved into a homeless shelter. I’m still grateful to that person from those chats who helped me find the phone number.
Break into Two (Act Two begins)
Over the course of the next three months, I sobered up, went through two jobs before landing what I thought was my dream job at the time, and started to experience the feeling of self-sufficiency. I was stepping into my own. There were forces working against me while I was there, but I won’t go into that. I also reunited with my step family, people who were demonized by the two relatives who were keeping me in a state of disaster. Eventually, I found an apartment and moved away from the shelter. I was so damned proud of myself.
B Story
It wasn’t easy, the stay in the shelter, as I accidentally put my then-hero into that mold while there. There wasn’t a lot of time for reflection, and for me, not much to reflect on, so I spent quite a bit of time remembering their words and looking for them to make appearances on socials. In their absence, I watched all of the episodes of their podcast series, and ended up taking notes on key points that were relevant to my situation. Believe it or not, even the video game industry has scenarios that are not unlike any other place that requires personal leadership, and living in a homeless shelter requires a very healthy dose of it.
Fun and Games
I’m sure I’ve written it somewhere in the stacks of posts I’ve written since I started my journey, but I learned so much from those episodes that it’s unreal. I don’t think I’ve ever listed any of them in one place. Without further adieu:
- Self-Advocacy – when applying for jobs, I was worried about the length of time that it’d been since I last worked. But over time, I realized that my skills alone should get me in the door, and if my gap in employment was louder than my abilities, then they didn’t deserve my skill level. I also learned that if they did not accept “no, I will not work 12 hours for four days, come all the way across town on day 5 just so you will send me home” for an answer, then I don’t need to work there, either.
- Radical Self-Care – putting myself first took a metric butt load of effort, but as I made it a practice, it became easier. I even coined the term “radical stealth-care” for those days when I just couldn’t. I listed different simple routines I could do in order to catch myself up. Things like “paper sudoku,” where I listed “wash face, make tea, do a puzzle from one of the paper magazines instead of on the phone.” Simple is still radical.
- Networking – I’ve met so many people, and not all of them were permanent. However, I do have new friends, a trauma-informed recovery coach instead of AA, a sponsor, and a therapist. I also networked with some people from this person’s stream, and am now writing for an indie game that should see public light in the next few years.
- Empathy – I’ve also learned how to see things from other people’s perspective. The hardest lesson, because I thought I was already empathetic. Compassion and empathy are not the same. Now I know. (not so subtle hint: this post is an attempt at empathy)
Midpoint
In the weeks before I moved into my new flat, I met a fan of my hero. We talked about why we were fans, and I explained that I got super busy, so I never really got to play the big game, but I enjoyed the audio dramas they were in. The fan asked me how I talked to them. It was an odd question, but I just said to be yourself and let things flow naturally. We shared our traumas, and I admitted that my then hero inspired me to change my life and I was actively writing a memoir about it. They suddenly were writing a book about how they were inspired, too.
They began asking about my interactions with the hero, and I didn’t think anything about it at first, but then it became the central point of our conversations. “Did they interact with your post?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but it left me second guessing myself. Where I previously didn’t care whether I got a reaction or reply (I get it – sometimes my humor is so good that people forget to like my jokes because they’re laughing too hard), I was suddenly worried that I was talking too much or saying the wrong things.
Shortly after I moved into my new flat, the fan dropped a bomb on me. “They’re ignoring you,” the fan said. I asked to change the subject. It was a horrible thing to say and it was sending me. “Actors are not obligated to talk to you.” I told the fan to change the subject. “It’s okay, you’ll find a community who accepts you.” I said to change the subject or I would leave the conversation. “You do you, boo. I’m just trying to help.”
Unbeknownst to me, said hero was actually on a break…a real one, and a much needed one. (They deserve like 2 months in the hills, really, just go enjoy the mountains and have a good time of it – my opinion.)
I blocked the fan. But they made a point to keep an eye on this blog, watch my socials closely even after that, and throw occasional shade about me on their own profiles. I’ve had a stalker, this wasn’t that. This was more…level 3 creeper. I learned later from a friend that they copied part of my inspiration post and inserted their name and situation where mine once was and was sharing it with people as if it was their own. Major yikes. I was so uncomfortable with it that I eventually blocked their IP from seeing this blog.
I won’t name names, because text can be misinterpreted, and I forgive them. And text-based chats can be twisted as people like to do with me, which is why I do not like DMs unless it’s for a reason (like writing opportunities or trusted friends checking in and saying hi). But the damage was done, and I was suffering the abandonment trauma that I was just about to start working on with a therapist the following week.
Bad Guys Close In
Instead, I relapsed the day before the visit. I stayed in a state of limbo, drinking to cover up the pain of suddenly losing my hero and wondering if I was going to recover from it all or end up on the street, since I literally had no place to go anymore. I was scared, I was angry, I was hurt. I didn’t understand why people would just turn tables on me without first explaining what I was doing wrong so I could fix it.
I reached out to friends, people who said they’d be there if I needed them…who were there for me until I needed them. I’ve never seen so many excuses for not being able to offer an ear in my life. On top of feeling scared, angry, and hurt, I felt alone…abandoned.
The trauma was winning.
All Is Lost
I was done with it. I lamented the idea of deleting my entire online presence from the internet, and even talked about it openly on social media. Among the flippant replies were “whatever works for you.”
I deleted everything. Twitter, Twitch, Instagram, Discord, bSky, and set everything on this blog to private, and I set up shop under my pseudonym (which has yet to grace the cover of a book). I made sure hero knew it was me, and then of course I relapsed again when I saw the fan’s name show up in a comment section.
I spent about a week in total silence before donning my pseud: not drinking alcohol, hell — not even drinking or eating. I just sat there. I don’t think I slept. Something was in my mind and I didn’t know what to do with it.
Dark Night of the Soul
That’s when someone called me. “Hi, I am a trauma-informed recovery coach, and your former therapist recommended that I call you.” After a thirty minute chat, I met her, and we gelled perfectly. I’ve never been so excited to meet up for recovery chats like I am with this one — 100% lifesaver. She’s helped me reframe the mentality of breaking prewritten standards to creating my own.
For example, one of my first problems that I texted her about was serious craving for a beer. Her response was “is beer the problem or is it alcohol?” I was confused, and she asked me who wrote my rules. It was the first time that I was able to reframe a situation into what worked for me instead of what others told me I could or couldn’t do. So I tried a non alcoholic brew that I have fallen in love with. Haven’t desired alcohol since.
It was some time since I met her that I realized — I didn’t need a hero to save me. I needed someone to shine a light around the muddy water that I was trapped in so I could see who I really was. That, and I really needed a fucking therapist…or in my case, trauma-informed recovery coach.
Break into Three (Act Three begins)
I eventually reunited with one of the two relatives that treated me so poorly over the last decade. I am keeping a smart distance from them, but I am glad to find out what the root of the issue was. One is an alcoholic (bad, and they are an angry one who is stuck in the past and aggressively lashes out), and the other is a narcissist. Put the two together, and they basically try to put people under their thumb. When they cannot do that, then you’re automatically an evil horrible nasty person. I believe I am the only person to successfully get out from underneath them and still maintain a positive connection with one. I was able to get all of my furniture and the rest of my belongings back.
Finale
It’s still a bit surreal to look back to a year ago and realize the stark contrast between where I was and where I am. Where I once stayed loaded and was counting the days to oblivion, I am now standing proud and courageous, resilient and resolute, confident and conceited…I jest, or not, I don’t talk to myself enough to know. I do know that I’m still growing. I’m not done, yet. Whatever happens next, though, I am here for it. Eyes wide open and facing forward.
Final Image
Despite the discovery that I am, in fact, my own hero (perish the thought), I still am very grateful for my then hero’s break. If they hadn’t taken the time to go and become even more badass than they already were, I wouldn’t have been able to realize that I’d been standing strong on my own for this entire journey. Sure, their words, their shows, their coffee mug with the words RADICAL SELF-CARE inspire and motivate me, but they’re not my damned hero.
I am.
By the way, Sam — thanks for the light. We shant speak of this again.