The Day I Rolled a 20 🎲🎲
A Short Story About How an Autistic Dungeon Master Used The Game to Understand His Own Emotions
Preface
What if the key to understanding yourself was hiding in a character sheet?
This is a story about one young man’s unexpected journey into emotional self-awareness—not through therapy or self-help books, but through the familiar mechanics of the game world he already lived and breathed.
If you’ve ever struggled to name your own feelings but could sense someone else’s mood in a heartbeat... if you’ve ever felt more like a supporting character in someone else’s story than the hero of your own—this story might feel like home.
You won’t walk away with a manual. But you might walk away with a mirror. And maybe the courage to fill out your own character sheet, too.
The Story
Eli was twenty years old, lived in a small second-story apartment with walls too thin, and didn’t quite know what to make of himself.
He could tell you exactly what his best friend’s character was feeling in their latest campaign; Tavian the elven bard, secretly in love with the dwarven cleric, haunted by the guilt of a song gone wrong. Eli had written Tavian’s backstory himself.
He could spot the tension in a scene, the subtle way one player’s silence meant they were upset, the way another deflected with jokes when things got too real. Emotions in others made a kind of sense to him; like patterns he could read in the sky.
But his own?
His own emotions felt like a fogged-up mirror. He could feel the pressure behind the glass, but couldn’t make out the shapes. Anger and sadness blurred together. Joy was more of a concept than a sensation. Anxiety came through clearest—a static buzz under his skin, familiar like a worn-out hoodie.
Eli didn’t think of himself as broken. Just not fully rendered.
What he was good at—what he loved—was storytelling. Building worlds. Creating characters with flaws and dreams and complicated histories. Every Sunday night, he ran games for his online group, guiding them through his lovingly crafted realms. He was meticulous about it; hand-drawn maps, rich lore, character arcs that spanned years.
And then, one Wednesday afternoon, while flipping through a character sheet template and sipping lukewarm instant coffee, it hit him.
What if he made himself into a character?
Not a perfect hero. Not some idealized version. Just... Eli. As if he were a PC in one of his own campaigns. Stats, backstory, traits. Flaws. The whole thing.
It was an odd idea, but it settled into him with a quiet kind of rightness.
So he opened a fresh sheet. For once, he wasn’t the Game Master. He was the character.
Name: Eli
Race: Human
Class: Maybe Bard? Or Wizard. Something that made sense for a storyteller.
Alignment: That one made him pause. Not because he didn’t know; because maybe it changed, depending on the day.
Strengths: Insight into others. Creativity. Pattern recognition.
Weaknesses: Emotional fog. Overthinking. Avoidance.
As he filled it out, slowly, something strange happened. Not clarity, not exactly. But connection. Like putting words to things he’d only felt in echoes. Like drawing a map of a forest he’d wandered his whole life without knowing the path.
There was power in naming things, even if the names weren’t perfect.
He kept going.
Personality Traits:
Notices what others miss
Talks more easily through metaphor
Has a different voice when writing than when speaking
Flinches at loud arguments, even if he’s not in them
Flaws:
Hides in competence
Mistakes emotional numbness for calm
Believes being understood is earned, not given
Then came the hardest part:
Backstory:
Mother left when he was eight
Dad said he had to “man up” after that
Didn’t cry for five years
Tried to once, alone, at night, but it felt like squeezing a dry sponge
Found D&D at thirteen. Found Tavian at seventeen
Found himself—maybe—at twenty
He added a personal quest:
Objective: Learn to feel, not just understand
The next few days, he kept returning to the sheet. Not obsessively—just like someone watering a plant that had finally started to grow.
And then came Sunday.
Session night.
Everyone else had already logged on. The usual chaos of inside jokes and snack talk filled the mic channel. Eli sat quietly, listening. The sheet—his sheet—was still open on a second screen.
He could’ve started the game as usual. Slipped right into the story.
But he didn’t.
He took a breath.
“Hey, before we jump in... I’ve got something weird to share.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was the kind that listens.
“I made a character sheet for myself,” he said. “Not a new NPC. I mean—for me. As a person.”
Someone chuckled. Not mockingly. More curious than anything.
“You statted yourself?”
“Yeah,” Eli said. “It helped. I’ve been feeling kind of... fogged in. And I thought, maybe if I looked at myself like a character, I could figure out what the hell I’m actually feeling. It’s like... I don’t know the story I’m in unless I write it down.”
He braced himself. For teasing. For deflection. For something that would make him shrink back behind the GM screen.
But Dani, Tavian’s player, said softly, “Dude. That’s actually kind of brilliant.”
Then Liam added, “Can we do it too?”
And just like that, the campaign paused. Not forever. Just for the night.
They all opened blank sheets. Named their classes. Shared their real stats. Some funny. Some raw. Some still uncertain.
Eli watched it unfold, not from the DM’s perch, but from within the story.
For the first time, he wasn’t just telling a story for others to live in. He was part of it.
A player.
Part of the party.
He didn’t feel fully rendered. Not yet. But more than before.
And that was enough.
Quest Updated:
Level 2 Unlocked — Be seen and stay.
If this story resonated with you; if you've ever felt foggy about your own emotions but clear about everyone else's; you’re not alone.
I write stories, tools, and reflections for people navigating life with autism, ADHD, or just a beautifully complicated mind. If that’s you or someone you love, hit subscribe.
Because sometimes the best way to understand yourself... is to start rolling the dice.
