One of the things I always try and remember is that, from a mental health perspective, it can be valuable to celebrate the small victories, however inconsequential you think they might seem to others, or however minor they might feel in comparison to some of the things they are dealing with. Successfully overcoming something is always a thing worth patting yourself on the back for, and thus today I would like to do just that for myself.
I mentioned the other day that I had been going through the basics of DaVinci Resolve, largely out of necessity because my prior video editor of choice, Hitfilm Express, is no longer available — and, indeed, the company that made it no longer exists, it seems. I had been putting off learning DaVinci Resolve for the longest time because it's the sort of application that you open up and you can feel its UI laughing at you. "You'll never know what all these buttons are for," it says. "You may as well just close me right now and not even bother."
Well, today I decided that I was going to put my three chapters' worth of training to the test and edit myself a YouTube video. And, to my great pleasure, it was immediately just as straightforward as the last seven years I've spend using Hitfilm Express. Yes, there are a number of differences between the two applications — most notably that DaVinci Resolve is a considerably more complex, fully-featured program that can do other things besides editing video — but it seems that I have successfully ported over all the important knowledge from Hitfilm Express to DaVinci Resolve.
I haven't yet done everything in DaVinci Resolve that I used to do in Hitfilm Express — notably, I still need to learn how to do titles and keyframe-based animation and compositing — but taking on the relatively simple project that I did today has given me the confidence to explore the application further, either with or without the training manual by my side. After all, I learned Hitfilm without any real training material — most of the knowledge there I ported over from past experience with Final Cut Pro on Mac, which again, had its own way of doing certain things.
When tackling anything like this, it's taking that first step that is always the most difficult. In fact, I'd go so far as to say when doing pretty much anything, the first step is always the hardest — whether you're talking about working on an elaborate project, or simply motivating yourself to stand up and go and do something with your day.
I have proven myself victorious over several little things like that today — firstly, getting off the sofa and recording the voiceover for my video, then actually going through and editing the thing, and finally, troubleshooting a little issue I had with the export — and I am officially giving myself a pat on the back for my achievements. Now I can spend the remainder of the evening Doing Something Fun without any sort of guilt or feelings of obligation whatsoever.
Getting rid of those feelings of guilt and obligation completely are a whole other matter, of course, but one step at a time and all that. One step at a time.
Oh, and here's the vid, if you want to watch it:
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I'm having one of those days where my brain feels restless, where it feels like I "should" be doing something, but as far as I am aware, I have no commitments this weekend whatsoever, so I should just be taking the time to relax, enjoy myself and mentally prepare for the week ahead. (There's nothing particularly special about the week ahead, either, just the weekend is generally a good time to mentally prepare yourself for actually having to do things for, like, your job and stuff.)
I'm unsure where this particular anxiety stems from, but it's not an altogether uncommon phenomenon. It seems it is most frequently associated with ADHD, which I have not been formally diagnosed with, but which from talking to people who do have it, I recognise a lot of the things they mention — much like I did with autism before I went and got myself diagnosed. I'm not in any great hurry to get myself diagnosed in that regard, though I suspect, as with the autism diagnosis, that having it confirmed (or otherwise) might help me to think about my own brain in a more helpful way.
But regardless! That doesn't fix the immediate issue, which is my brain is currently doing somersaults wondering what I should actually do today. And it's not as if I have a shortage of options. I could play some Final Fantasy XI, now I am into the Treasures of Aht Urhgan expansion. I could play some Terranigma, which I started the other day and enjoyed a lot. I could play some Splatoon Raiders, which I am also having fun with. I could record a voiceover for my Illusion of Time video and then edit said video now that I have learned the basics of DaVinci Resolve. I could even record some voiceovers for some work videos and get those out of the way if I really wanted to.
Or I could do something completely different. I could actually leave the house for some reason, perhaps pay a visit to CEX in town and see if they have anything interesting. I could go for a walk on the common (although I feel like the exact time I'm typing this is probably not the best time to do that, given how hot and humid it appears to be outside, so I will probably save that for later). I could pull down a random game from the shelf and give that a go. I could do some creative writing. I could write about a game I've been playing recently. I could record some Let's Play-style videos (again, I think it might be a bit too hot to do that right now). I could learn what "colour grading" is. I could practice some Japanese.
This is the problem, y'see. The problem is not that I have nothing to do, it's that I have a lot of options for what I could do, and pretty much all of them would be enjoyable and/or fulfilling in some way. One might say that this means it doesn't really matter which one of them I pick, as I will be having an enjoyable and fulfilling experience regardless. But for some reason, when this sort of mental block strikes, it doesn't quite work like that; my brain starts to feel genuine anxiety over whether or not I am picking the "correct" or "best" option, whatever that means — and there really is no "correct" or "best" option here. There is nothing I have to do; there is nothing that will make my life significantly better or worse if I do or don't do it. So all I need to do is just… pick something.
My intent was to follow that paragraph with something along the lines of "So I'm off to go and… [x]". But as I went to type that, my brain started a tug-of-war process with itself, still worrying over whether or not I was making the right choice. So I'm going to set myself a firm but friendly ultimatum — without being aggressive or sergeant-majorish about it — and say that by the time I finish writing this paragraph, I will have made a decision of what to do for the immediate now, not necessarily the whole day, but for the period immediately following completing this paragraph. Whenever I finish this paragraph. I am absolutely, positively, definitely not stalling for time while I attempt to get my mind in order. Definitely not. Perish the thought! Who would do something like that, even? That's ridiculous. I can absolutely, definitely make a decision on what Nice Thing I would like to do today.
I'm going to go and play Terranigma for a bit. Then we'll see what happens from there.
There, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?
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At therapy today, we were talking a bit about motivation, and how I feel like I've been struggling with it a bit of late — particularly when it comes to things like diet and exercise. One conclusion that I think we came to was that I am much more likely to be motivated to do something if I am kind to myself about it — and understanding of the fact that, while you might have grand long-term plans to achieve something that is well worth achieving, getting started will probably be quite a slow process.
To take exercise as an example, it's easy to say to yourself "I should exercise for at least half an hour at least three times a week" and then immediately feel like a failure the moment you don't manage to achieve that. (I am aware that is not very much exercise by some people's standards, but it's just a hypothetical baseline for the scenario I'm talking about here.) Setting yourself unrealistic "minimum" targets and then feeling bad when you fail to achieve them is not the way to develop long-term, healthy, sustainable habits, because you come to resent your unsuccessful attempts to live up to the completely arbitrary target you have set yourself, and end up not doing anything as a result. And with anything worth doing, doing that thing a little bit is always, always better than not doing the thing at all.
When I was talking about this, my therapist pointed out that I had a clear shift in my tone of voice. I was speaking purely in abstract terms about how my mind approaches such things, but I had subconsciously shifted to a rather stern-sounding voice (which she described as "the Sergeant-Major") when talking about not being able to meet those "minimum" expectations. And it's true; if you constantly berate yourself for not achieving something, that is, for most people, not a way to motivate yourself to achieve that thing. (It may well work for some people — I am not one of them.)
Conversely, when I think back over the times when I have had the most success getting myself to achieve something — or the times when I've been most convinced by another person to do something — it's always been when kind, gentle encouragement is on offer. A recognition of the fact that something might be difficult, at least to begin with, but a calm suggestion that I at least try something and see how I get on — and if I'm not able to achieve the Grand Target right away, that's fine! Taking a first step is still a step on the road to success, and however small that first step might be, it's better than stumbling so hard you decide the whole thing just isn't worth bothering with at all.
So this is something for me to work on. Acknowledge my successes. Take things one step at a time, a little at a time. Track my progress to celebrate my achievements, not to measure up how close I am to an arbitrary target that ultimately means nothing to anyone but myself.
Because, frankly, I can do that. Look at the post number on this post. Contemplate the fact that this is the third time around on this train, and I have successfully been motivated to do that day after day. This is exercise for the mind. Exercise for the body can be achieved in a similar way. One day at a time, a little at a time, until you wake up one day and you've achieved something that is important and worthwhile to yourself. Others may not recognise your achievement in the same way, and that's fine! It doesn't matter. So long as you have achieved something that you, yourself, find fulfilling, you have succeeded. And you can build from there.
To quote Soul Blazer, which I finished recently (and wrote about! and made a video about!): "Like good sleep comes after hard work, good rest comes after an honest life." I'm not planning on reaching "rest" any time soon, of course — touch wood and all that — but I do, honestly, want to ensure that I have no regrets. And living that honest life comes by taking things one step at a time, recognising your achievements every step of the way.
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I know I said I'd write about something else on here, but after the late-night update on the situation, I feel inclined to bring this little saga to something of a "close" in a more conclusive manner. We are exhausted and emotional, but delighted beyond belief to have our precious Oliver back at home with us. There will be images of him peppered throughout this post.
It's hard to believe that this whole saga is over — and over in a way that is about the best possible way it could have resolved itself, outside of him coming home a little bit earlier. We took him to the vet today to get checked over, and outside of him having lost a bit of weight and muscle definition on his legs — unsurprising given his three weeks living rough — he has been given a completely clean bill of health. This is our last remaining worry put to rest: he is back, he is alive, he is safe, and he is healthy. Evidently he was a very lucky boy — and a clever boy for taking care of himself for so long; things could have been much worse, and I am grateful to anything that will listen that things did not end up that way.
Patti has not yet adjusted to his presence. She was very clearly missing him, because we caught her looking for him, she was acting incredibly clingy and occasionally letting out the most heartbreaking plaintive howls of an evening. But as soon as he came back, she was puffing up, growling and hissing, and she's spent all of today in the wardrobe. The wardrobe is a safe place. She is fine in there, she's just not quite ready to come out again yet. But she will get there.
As for Oliver himself, he is doing just fine. He's clearly very tired by his whole ordeal — and who can blame him? — but he's already settling back into his usual routines and behaviour. The one and only thing that has really changed about the way he behaves is that he is a lot more vocal now than he was before he escaped; he is spending a lot of time shouting at us, which is probably an aftereffect of him calling for us up the tree last night. He wants to know that we are nearby, and that he is safe.
The one thing we'll probably never know is where he went for most of those three weeks. Given that we found him a couple of hundred yards down the road, he probably didn't go all that far, but aside from him being stuck up a tree last night, we have no insight as to where he might have been. Was he locked in somewhere? Quite possibly. Was he taken in by somebody? Probably not, as otherwise he'd probably be a bit more well-fed than he is now. Did he just get lost? Entirely possible, as he's never been outside in this neighbourhood before, and thus even though we left him plenty of familiar scents outside, he was unable to find his way home by himself, even though he was so close. So very close.
The hardest thing about the whole situation was contemplating the possibility that we might never see him again. There are things everywhere in the house that remind us of him. There's some cat plushies on the shelves in the living room: a black one and a ginger one, for Patti and him. There's a little stained glass thing depicting a black cat and a ginger cat hanging out together on the shed. The wallpaper on my living room PC was Oliver. The avatar I used on Facebook and Nextdoor was Oliver. Days before he went away, I set my blog to automatically set a "Featured Image" on every single post that didn't already have one, and for the image in question to be one that showed Oliver and Patti napping together. I couldn't even contemplate booting up Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream for Switch, because I made anthropomorphised versions of Oliver and Patti in that game, and playing it while we didn't even know if Oliver was still alive or not would have absolutely broken my heart even more than it was already.
For me, one of the worst parts of dealing with some sort of loss is seeing all the remnants that are left behind, and deciding what you are going to do with them. Just little things that remind you of who or what you have lost; sometimes even the simplest, silliest little thing can bring you to tears. Back during a particularly bleak period in my life circa 2010 — the time I split from my first wife and was faced with essentially having to completely "reset" my post-graduate life and start over — I described these things as "crystallised memories", and it's a description I stand by. There they sit: a solid, tangible reminder of something that was once in your life and now is not. It can be difficult to let go of them, but sometimes that is the healthiest thing to do.
Thankfully, none of that was necessary this time around. And while there most certainly was a great deal of grief while Oliver was away from home, we can now thankfully set that grief aside and appreciate how lucky we are to have someone we love so much and that we feared we'd lost forever return to our lives, safe and well. Sometimes amazing things really do happen, seemingly against all odds.
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I am trying so hard to hang onto hope that we will find Oliver, or that he will just wander back in one day as if nothing happened, but with him being gone for three weeks from today, it is getting tougher and tougher to maintain that hope — and it's all the harder seeing other people on platforms like Facebook who have been going through the same thing ending up getting safely reunited with their beloved pets. I don't like feeling jealousy about such things, but I can't deny I have felt that way to a certain extent. I have done all the same things they have; why hasn't it brought our boy home yet?
That's not to say we're giving up on him — we had a single possible but completely unconfirmed sighting of a cat that may or may not have been him in the woods some distance from our house (but within a plausible radius of where he might have roamed over the course of three weeks) and thus have spent several sessions combing that section of woods at various times of day to no avail; I went yesterday afternoon after we got the comment; we got up early and went at dawn this morning; and I walked all the way from our house to this part of the woods this evening. There was no sign of him at any point.
I don't even know if we're looking in the right place. There are so many potential places he could have gone. The thing with the area we live in, known as Lordswood, is that there's a fucking great wood covering a lot of it, and thus if he found his way into there, which is entirely possible, heaven only knows how we're ever going to track him down and bring him home.
The one thing I am trying to tell myself is that when I make an excursion like this evening, I am hopefully leaving some sort of scent trail that might help him to find his way home. Lord knows I was sweating enough to leave a stink trail by the time I finished my wanderings this evening, but who knows if that's enough? I certainly don't, because as I've said, we've seen absolutely no sign of him anywhere for the last three weeks, meaning we have no idea if we're looking in even the right direction. That said, given how we believe he escaped and the fact he did not appear on the cameras mounted on the front of our house when he did so, we have an instinctive feeling as to which way he went, but no actual proof.
I haven't ruled out the possibility that he has been taken in by someone, either. And if that has happened, I have no idea how we'll find him, because if the people who take him in never take him to the vet or a shelter or get his microchip scanned by a volunteer, he won't get flagged up as his home being here, and the fact he is away from a family who love and miss him very much. If this is what has happened, I just hope that they will do the decent thing.
If that is not what has happened, I am at something of a loss as to what else I can do at this point.
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I've alluded to it a bit recently, but I thought I'd talk specifically about it today. For the last little while, I have been attending talk therapy. I have been meaning to do this for a long time, because there are lots of people I know and trust who have made use of it, but I always found the prospect of choosing a therapist and actually getting started on the whole process to be extremely daunting. How do you pick the "right" one for you? What do all the different "approaches" mean? Can I really afford to do this?
Not an image of either my therapist or me. Photo by Timur Weber on Pexels.com
Well, the answer to the last one was easy; at some point in the last couple of years, I feel like I've got to a point where I'm in a relatively comfortable position in terms of finances — after many years of finding money an absolutely panic-inducing but unavoidable aspect of life, this is good — and thus I didn't feel that making what is a fairly substantial financial commitment to my own wellbeing was something that would be inadvisable.
Technically, you can get talk therapy on the NHS, of course, but my past experiences with that haven't been great — because yes, I've tried. In practice, what happened was that I got referred to a scheme by my GP, but left to my own devices to follow it up — something which I found very difficult to do — and when I finally mustered the courage to join said scheme, I found it absolutely, definitely did not fit my needs at all, as it was a group therapy session, and that was not a situation where I felt, in any way, comfortable.
I'd stumbled across a local organisation known as The Empathy Project a few times during past sessions of research, so this time around I decided to actually be proactive and contact them directly. Their therapists aren't the cheapest around — though they do have a scheme where those on more limited incomes can take advantage of semi-subsidised sessions — but they seemed like a legitimate organisation, and as good a place as any to actually see if Getting Some Professional Help was actually, well, helpful.
I will add that I started attending therapy sessions well before my current situation with Oliver, so thankfully I was in a somewhat more coherent, clear-headed place than I am right now — and I am glad that I already had everything sorted out well before I, as you might look at it, really needed this kind of support.
Anyway, to those of you considering starting some sort of talk therapy: I recommend it. It is Very Good to have a place where you feel like you can say the things that perhaps on a day-to-day basis you don't feel you get the opportunity to say under normal circumstances — or which, for one reason or another, you don't feel comfortable expressing. It is Very Good to have a place you can go where someone will listen to whatever you have to say, however much difficulty you might have explaining it, or however worried you might be about people not taking it seriously. It is Very Good to have a place where, if necessary, you can burst into tears and the only other person present there knows how to handle that.
Therapy is not a magic bullet solution to all the things that ail your mind. Mental health is complicated, and many of the things you struggle with are likely to be ingrained over the course of years, even decades. You will have times where you feel like you make progress, and times where you feel like things have gone a bit backwards. But it is a place where there are no wrong answers to difficult, abstract questions, and where, if you allow yourself to let go of many of the usual social restraints you might place upon yourself when around family and friends, you can freely express things that have been bothering you — and perhaps come to realise quite how much some of them have actually been affecting you. At the other end of the spectrum, it is also sometimes the case that things which have felt like they have taken over your entire life for a certain period sometimes just need you to be able to talk about them in a safe, non-confrontational and non-judgemental environment.
All this is to say that in the time I've spent in therapy so far, I've found it very helpful. I still have a lot of work to do on a lot of things about my life and my mental health, but already I have found myself able to acknowledge a bunch of things that are perhaps difficult to contemplate independently, to say the least — and I'm sure I will continue to discover things in subsequent sessions. I just need to get through this current particularly bleak episode in the saga of my life to be able to move forwards.
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The thing people who have been fortunate enough to have never been afflicted with debilitating depression don't always understand is that the whole experience is more than just being "a bit sad", and thus it's not something you can just "snap out of" or "cheer up" from. (To be clear, those scare quotes are purely hypothetical; no-one has actually been disrespectful enough to declare my current feelings non-valid.) I suspect it's something that is different for everyone who experiences it, so today I thought I'd talk a bit about how I feel when I get like this.
For me, it's like being inside a bubble of sorts. I can see the world going on around me; I can hear it; I can even interact with it. But I feel an almost total disconnect from it. It's like I'm on a slightly different plane of existence; reality kept at arm's length. Close enough to be familiar and still just about within reach, under most circumstances, but far enough away to making going about normal, everyday things varying degrees of "challenging", ranging from "begrudging reluctance" all the way up to "this feels like a completely insurmountable task that I will never be capable of". And the challenge factor doesn't necessarily relate directly to how difficult the actual task is; as an example, the simple act of talking to people I know and like right now feels very much like it's up around the "insurmountable" end of the scale. Not quite there, because I can just about carry on a conversation right now, but not something I am deliberately seeking out if I absolutely do not have to.
It can be disconcerting, and the description of it as a "bubble" is perhaps not the best one; bubbles, after all, are fragile, delicate things that can be popped at a moment's notice, while whatever encloses my mind at times like this is much more… solid-seeming. And it weighs you down; it drains the energy and vitality from your mind and body, and makes, as I say, just going about your regular, everyday business feel like an enormous effort; a toil that never ends.
And the worst thing is that being in this state is weirdly addictive. I recognise this about myself. I recognise that when I get into a state like this, something in my brain almost wants to remain this way, even though another little voice in my brain knows that it's unproductive and unhelpful, both to myself and to the people around me. It becomes a battle between different aspects of my consciousness, I guess; the more primal, emotional part of myself wants to continue to wallow in the darkness because there's a strange sort of comfort there, while what I would probably describe as the more high-functioning, pragmatic part of myself wants to tell me to… just do something, whether that's a simple thing like doing something enjoyable that might take my mind off things, or something more complex and long-term that might lead to some sort of solution (or at least resolution) to the problem I'm experiencing.
At the moment, the primal part is winning. I am right in the depths of that bubble, and normality feels a very long way away. I don't know if it's slipping further away or getting closer, either; the feeling changes from moment to moment. Sometimes I feel like I am just going to have to accept that Something Bad has happened and try to move on from it; at others, I feel like I described the other day, like everything has come to a screeching halt until this particular "episode" of my life has concluded in some fashion.
This is all very abstract I know, and I'm almost certainly mixing metaphors and whatnot. But this also just happens to be the sort of musings that dribble forth from my brain at times like this, as particularly longstanding readers of this blog will be well aware, I'm sure.
I have little doubt that I will eventually manage to make it through this particularly bleak period of my life one way or another; I have survived plenty of other episodes like this in the past, and I'm sure there are plenty more to come in the future. But right now, if I seem a bit off, or if I don't really want to talk, or you get the distinct impression I just want to be left alone… well, as I said the other day, it's probably not you, and it is most definitely me.
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I am absolutely exhausted. We stayed up late last night to go on another night-time look for Oliver, and once again found absolutely no sign of him whatsoever. At this point I really am at a loss as to what I can possibly do. I bought bright head-mounted torches and an infra-red heat-sensing camera in the hopes that they will make it easier to see a cat hiding, but given that we have no idea which way he went or how far he's gone in the last two and a half weeks, it feels very much like finding a needle in a haystack, and the emotional exhaustion of simply not knowing if anything we are doing is actually worthwhile is very much manifesting itself as physical exhaustion.
This is one of those times where I feel like I need to have a word with my inner self, and say that it's okay to look after me. Oliver is important, and we desperately want to find him, but if the process of searching for him, worrying about him and generally running ourselves completely ragged is having an impact on our physical wellbeing, it's probably time to take a little break, at least for one evening. Patti is also sad, upset and clearly worried about us.
We have done everything that the people who copy-paste the exact same comments onto every single "missing pet" Facebook post suggest. We have put things that he likes and things that smell of him outside, we have put food outside (which, on separate occasions, got eaten by another neighbourhood cat, and attracted a fox), we have left open the window that we believe he escaped through, we have been out calling softly for him, we have sat out in the garden having a normal conversation so he can hear us, we have motion sensors on our security cameras set to notify us the moment they see an animal.
At this point my only real possible conclusions are that he is locked in somewhere and hasn't been found yet — which, with every passing day, makes me very concerned for his wellbeing; that he has been taken by someone, either because they saw a lovely cat looking lost and thought they'd take care of it, or because of more nefarious purposes, which I don't like to think about (but also feel is probably quite unlikely); or that he is no longer with us, in which case I feel like he probably would have been found by now.
I know I keep repeating myself, but hopefully my post yesterday makes it clear why. I do not feel like I can "continue" with my life while I don't know what has happened to my precious boy. And I'm worried that I am going to be left feeling like this for a long time. What if we just… don't hear anything at all? What then? Are we stuck in a perpetual limbo of hoping that he'll just make it home somehow, seemingly against all odds? Or do we attempt to make our peace with the situation, try and say as best a goodbye as we can in his absence, and try to move on?
I can't bring myself to do the last one. Not yet, anyway. I still feel like one evening, we're just going to see him saunter around the corner as if nothing happened. It does sometimes end up like this, and I am hoping that this is one of those situations. But with every passing day, it's harder to hold on to that hope.
I'm off to try and distract myself. Tonight I will be having a go at Adventure of Samsara, Atari's exploratory platformer that apparently has some connections to the 2600 version of Adventure. Hopefully it takes my mind off things for a bit at least.
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If you're anything like me, when you encounter a period of great uncertainty or emotional turmoil in your life, it can feel like your brain has pressed a big old "pause" button, making it near-impossible to even contemplate going about your life as normal. Your job feels like the least important thing in the world, you feel like interacting with people in the way you usually would is the most tiring and difficult thing imaginable, and it somehow feels "wrong" to simply continue on with the things that you were doing prior to the aforementioned period of great uncertainty or emotional turmoil.
This is, inevitably, not particularly convenient or helpful, either for yourself or for people who are, for one reason or another, depending on you and your input into various aspects of their own lives, be it personal, professional or a bit of both. I unfortunately do not have a good answer for how to just "get over it" at times like this, since, as you have probably noticed from recent posts, I am slap bang in the middle of one such period right now. And I will doubtless continue to be so for quite some time. I apologise in advance to anyone I don't reply to, am rude to, have no patience for or for whom I am unable to complete a requested task. It's not you, it's very much me, but I do at least hope you have some understanding for what I am contending with.
One of the things I find most difficult about times like this is, as I talked about the other day, getting other people to understand the sheer depth of the things you are feeling, and how all-encompassing they can feel. I feel like not everyone's brain presses that big tempting "pause" button when something like this happens; some folks can, I suspect, handle things a lot better than I can. Or, no, that's perhaps not fair to myself. Some folks, I suspect, handle things differently to how I do. Regardless of self-deprecation, I envy them somewhat; the way in which they can allow their life to continue moving forward during times of great uncertainty and emotional turmoil.
Or perhaps they're just better at hiding it than I am. Perhaps they're feeling exactly the same as I do in private, but are better at "masking" the way they feel when they are around others. Putting on a brave face, stiff upper lip, that sort of thing — but breaking down in tears when they're off the clock, staring into space, feeling despair at simply not knowing what to do or how to feel.
At times like this, as I say, it can be difficult to engage with the things that would normally bring you joy, because sometimes it can feel like taking hold of a feeling of transient joy is somehow "wrong" or "disrespectful" to the thing you are uncertain, upset, sad or angry about — even if you know that it's a momentary distraction that you probably need for the sake of your own mental health. The other side of this is that when you're experiencing those feelings of great uncertainty and emotional turmoil, it can simply be difficult to focus on something that, under normal circumstances, would bring you joy, but requires a certain amount of concentration and engagement.
This is an exceedingly long-winded way of saying that I have not gone back to Final Fantasy XI since Oliver's disappearance, despite the fact that it was bringing me great joy, and would probably be an excellent distraction right now. But it just doesn't feel quite right to be going back to that just yet, which is what led me to reach for something from my shelf this evening that does not particularly require continuous concentration, focus and engagement — or, perhaps more accurately, demands a different kind of continuous concentration, focus and engagement; a kind that, when your brain is all a-churnin' with great uncertainty and emotional turmoil, you can still get along with.
For me, this is where video games that are entirely mechanics-focused come in. I am generally someone who prefers playing things with strong stories, but there are times when something that is pure mechanics is exactly what the doctor ordered. These types of experiences demand a different kind of focus to works that want you to concentrate on narrative, themes and characterisation, and they can make excellent distractions from periods of great uncertainty and emotional turmoil.
The absolute ideal form of this type of experience is something that, when you reach a "fail" state, you can jump right back into with minimal fuss, ad infinitum if necessary. In technical video game terms, the best implementation of this is a game where, when you hit a "Game Over" or equivalent, you can just press a button and be immediately playing again, ideally without any waiting around for load times or anything like that.
This evening, I have been playing some of the Atari Recharged games, which fit the bill perfectly for this sort of thing. I've had lovely boxed versions of these on my shelves for ages, but still haven't yet got around to exploring all of them fully. This evening, I have been playing Asteroids Recharged and Breakout Recharged, and they have very much been having the desired effect.
For the unfamiliar, the Atari Recharged games are modern reimaginings of classic Atari arcade games. The ones I have played all have the same structure: they have an infinite "arcade" mode, where you simply play to survive as long as possible and attain a high score, and a "challenge" mode, which consists of a large number of predefined, standalone, self-contained levels, each of which challenges you to accomplish a particular objective, often under difficult circumstances.
Both of these are excellent for calming the storm of a turbulent mind, as both function as I describe above: they demand concentration and focus without having to engage the part of your brain that deals with pesky things like words, subtext, narrative themes and characterisation, and they allow you to quickly and easily try again if you mess up. And you will mess up a lot more than you win — particularly in the arcade mode, where there is literally no way to win other than beating your own high scores, or those of people you have set your sights on from the online leaderboards.
In a way, they are "mindless", but I don't mean that in a denigratory way. There's something primal and instinctual that happens to you when you play games like this, and it leaves no room for abstract emotions. You'll feel enjoyment, satisfaction, frustration and even anger, but allow yourself to become one with the experience and you will, at least for an hour or two, forget about those feelings of great uncertainty and emotional turmoil.
It is important to give yourself an escape hatch; a lifeline. When your brain decides to put your life on pause, it often isn't healthy. It might cause you to not take as good care of yourself as you should. You might not eat properly. You might find yourself pushing away people who want to help — or at the very least want you to open up about what's wrong. It can be easy to immerse yourself in those feelings of great uncertainty and emotional turmoil; an all-encompassing, opaque black bubble of misery from which it can be very difficult to escape if you allow it to form completely.
So take those moments, as little and fleeting as they might be, and step out of that darkness for a moment. It's not a betrayal of the things you are upset about; it is allowing yourself a moment's peace, preventing you from being consumed completely, and perhaps giving you the strength to be able to pull yourself out of the mire, little by little.
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We go home tomorrow, which is going to be somewhat bittersweet, as I'm sure you can imagine. There has been absolutely no sign of Oliver over the course of the last week, no contact from anyone who has seen him, no sightings reported on social media and — perhaps thankfully? — no reports that he has passed away. So I choose to believe that he is still out there, somewhere, just waiting for us to find him. Perhaps it's all a game to him. He does love a game.
I am, of course, still absolutely sick with worry. It has been two weeks today that he went missing, and whatever happens, I am always, always going to be wondering if there was more we could have done — more we should have done. There are zillions of online resources out there saying what you "should" do when a cat goes missing, but a significant proportion of them appear to be AI-generated drivel and pseudoscience.
I am not willing to give up on him, though. At this point, it feels like it will be unlikely that he will come home by himself for whatever reason, but I still want to go looking for him and will be doing so when we return home tomorrow. I don't know if I will be able to achieve anything — over the course of two weeks, it's entirely possible he could have gone a long way, although most supposed "experts" (with the caveat above) seem to believe that cats who spend the majority of their time indoors, as Oliver did, won't have actually ventured very far, and are probably hiding silently somewhere they feel is "safe". This, unfortunately, makes them extremely difficult to track down; the most supposedly reliable advice appears to be to bring things that are "familiar" to them — things that they recognise the smell or sound of.
Part of me is concerned that he has simply been taken by someone. Not necessarily stolen as such, but perhaps he was seen somewhere, the owner didn't think to get his microchip checked, and now thinks that they have a wonderful new cat in their family. If that has happened, I have absolutely no idea how we would go about finding him — although if this has happened, his status will be flagged up if and when he is taken to the vets or a shelter or something, and that, in turn, would allow us to be reunited. But that, of course, depends on the person in question thinking to take him to a vet or shelter — if indeed this is the situation in which he has found himself.
As I've said repeatedly over the course of the last two weeks, though, the absolutely impossible thing throughout all this is just not knowing anything. What made him jump out of the window? Which way did he go? Was he just exploring, or was he running from something? Is he hurt? Is he hungry? Has he been taking care of himself for the last two weeks? Has someone else been taking care of him for the last two weeks? I don't have any answers, and these myriad questions swirling around my brain are driving me absolutely spare.
I'm supposed to be going back to work on Tuesday, and it'll be right back into a difficult, stressful time, too. Honestly I'm not sure I'm going to be able to cope. I am wracked with pain, sadness, guilt, anger, frustration and all manner of other emotions, and I still don't really know how to process any of them, or how to direct any of them in a vaguely productive direction — either for getting some work done, or for tracking down our precious boy.
As with any difficult time, I guess it's just going to have to be a "one step at a time" sort of situation. I want to think this is all going to end happily and become a funny story to share in the years to come, but I am also fearing the worst. I don't want to lose him. He is so, so precious to me.
There is nothing I can do from where I am right now, though. Tomorrow is a new day, and we can decide what we need to do from there. So the best thing I can probably do at the moment is get some rest and try to come to tomorrow as alert and refreshed as is possible under the circumstances.
Want to read my thoughts on various video games, visual novels and other popular culture things? Stop by MoeGamer.net, my site for all things fun where I am generally a lot more cheerful. And if you fancy watching some vids on classic games, drop by my YouTube channel.
If you want this nonsense in your inbox every day, please feel free to subscribe via email. Your email address won't be used for anything else.
