2269: Video Games (Might Have) Saved My Life

I thought about writing about this yesterday, but didn’t; I was feeling rather emotional about it and thus figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to spew out an ill-considered rant on such a sensitive subject. It’s still a delicate subject, of course, but I feel a bit more mentally prepared to tackle it and attempt to do it justice today.

This will doubtless be difficult to write, so bear with me while I inevitably ramble around the point. It will probably also be quite difficult to read, particularly if you know me quite well… but, again, bear with me — hopefully you’ll come away with a better understanding of some of the things I feel.

All right, preamble over: let’s begin.

Yesterday, when I first thought about writing this piece, I was angry. I got suddenly very angry about something I’ve been angry about before, and have been doing my best to not be as bothered by: the ongoing “culture war” that has all but destroyed rational, reasonable discussion of popular media — particularly gaming — through public social channels such as Twitter, as well as all but destroying any credibility, inclusiveness and, in many cases, entertainment value the mainstream video games press had.

It wasn’t really a specific event that made me feel angry; it was more a buildup of tension that just needed to be released. Recent controversies over the new Baldur’s Gate expansion, the press and “social justice” types outright lying about why people didn’t like it, needless outrage over Tracer’s butt in Blizzard’s Overwatch, the ever-present undercurrent of the morally superior looking down on people who are into video games and branding them misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, cis white heterosexual male scum… all of it was getting on top of me, even though a lot of it didn’t even directly concern me and the games I’m into. But the controversies still resonated with me, since I’ve also seen very similar nonsense aimed at the games I am into.

When I get angry about something, after the fact I often like to take a moment to reflect on exactly why I got so angry — why is that thing in particular so important to me that it had such a powerful emotional effect on me? Video games are dumb timewasters, aren’t they? Why should I care so much what some people I’d never want to hang out with at parties (not that I want to hang out with anyone at parties save for people who want to join me in another room and play computer games all night) think of the things I enjoy? Why do I feel compelled to continually defend my hobby and this medium from people who desire nothing more than to tear it down and remake it in the way they think it should be — because make no mistake, the loudest critics like this aren’t after true “diversity” or “inclusion” since they, in many cases, simply cannot accept the existence of material they deem “problematic”, nor can they understand that some people enjoy said “problematic” material and don’t want to be called sex pests/paedophiles/misogynists/assholes simply for the things they happen to be into. Why?

Well, “video games are important to me” is the simple answer. And I could leave it at that. But I’m not going to: I’m going to explain exactly why video games are important to me.

Growing up, I was a bit of an outcast. I was shy, I lacked confidence, I didn’t know how to talk to people. I remember on my first day at secondary school I turned to Matthew, one of my few friends from primary school and, with genuine fear in my eyes, whispered to him that I “couldn’t remember how to make friends”, which was putting me at something of a conversational impasse with Murray, the boy I had been sat next to in our tutor room. (Murray turned out to be a massive bullying twat, whom I finally punched in the face just as the headmaster was walking around the corner one memorable lunchtime; I escaped truly serious punishment on the grounds that he most certainly had had it coming for a very long time indeed.)

Growing up, I wasn’t into sports. I was into stuff that other people weren’t into. I played the piano. I played computer games. I wrote stories. (All of these are things I still do.) These were things that I learned I enjoyed at a very young age, so I have clung onto them with all my might for my whole life — and I’ve always known when someone would turn out to be a true friend, because they’d be into at least one of those things, and preferably more than one of them. Indeed, when I did eventually successfully remember how to make friends at secondary school, the group of friends I surrounded myself with were all a little like me to varying degrees — I was by far the most awkward and nerdy of them, but we all had our shared interest in video games which we felt like other people didn’t really get the appeal of.

When the time came for me to go to university, I was terrified at the prospect of having to deal with new people and even live with them. Fortunately, I found myself living with a flat full of thoroughly decent people who tended to be remarkably understanding of my quirks. There were still occasions when what I now recognise as social anxiety would get the better of me, and I’d want nothing more than to lock myself away and escape into the wonderful worlds and stories gaming let me explore and be a part of.

I continued my love of video games throughout my adult life. They always served as something comforting to me: after a challenging day at university, games were there to help me relax. After a difficult day working in teaching, games were there to help me vent my stress. After a day of chaotic retail, games were there to help me chill out and forget about the previous eight hours. And after a day where everything felt like it had gone wrong, games were there to save me.

Those who have been reading this blog for a while will know that I’ve been through a few difficult periods over the last six years in particular. The most notable of these was in 2010, when my first wife and I parted ways and I was left unemployed, with no money and facing the prospect of having to move back home — something which I found mortifyingly embarrassing for a man of my age who had qualifications (and a failed/abandoned career based on those qualifications).

As time passed, I sank deeper and deeper into a very dark depression indeed. There were days when I was completely unable to function normally. I had a long period where I didn’t — couldn’t — get up until about 5 in the afternoon, which would always make me feel terrible when I’d stagger, unkempt, to the shop across the road from my flat and the guy with the smelly armpits behind the counter would ask “how my day had been”.

Everything felt like it had gone wrong; I felt like I had completely failed at life. I felt like I had made all the wrong choices, and that there was no way out of the situation in which I found myself. And so my thoughts turned, as do those of many people in a similar situation, I’m sure, to whether or not this world really needed me in it any more.

Once that initial floodgate bursts and you start wondering such things, all manner of unwelcome thoughts start coming to the fore. Would it hurt? What’s it like to die? If I did die, who would find me? Would anyone find me? Should I tell someone I’m feeling this way? Should I tell someone I’m going to kill myself? If I do, do I actually want them to stop me?

More often than not, these strings of thoughts would cause my brain to get into a bit of a feedback loop and I’d end up eventually just passing out from exhaustion, often after having had a spectacularly undignified cry and/or rage about the whole thing. But so long as the situation remained, the thoughts wouldn’t go away entirely. I’d picture different ways of how I might do it, and what would happen once the deed had been done and someone found me — or what would happen if no-one found me.

To cut a long story short, I pushed through all that — more on how in a moment — and, for a while, things started to look up, and I started to think that I might have finally gotten myself into a situation where I could be happy and content, looking forward to the future rather than dreading it.

That didn’t happen. The unceremonious loss of my job at USgamer for vague (and, frankly, probably spurious) reasons, followed by the horrendous way in which subsequent employer energy company SSE (or, more specifically, my immediate managers) treated me while I worked for them — yes, I am naming and shaming here, because it fucked me right up, and I am still bitter about it to such a degree that I often have flashbacks to my particularly horrible last day — caused me to once more sink into an awful pit of depression, and it wasn’t any easier this time around, either.

Those thoughts of not being sure if I wanted to be part of this world any more started to come back. Familiar images of me holding a gun to my head came around; questions over what would happen if I followed through on these thoughts started to rise up once more.

And yet, even though I wouldn’t describe myself as being out of the worst of it even now, I never once harmed myself, let alone made an attempt on my own life. Even in my darkest moments, I was always pulled back from the edge of that particular precipice.

Why? Two reasons, the first of which is the one I imagine most people in a similar situation quote: awareness of the few people in the world who do care about you, and what it would do to them if you were to do something as drastic as killing yourself.

The second is video games.

I’m not joking. A big part of why I am still on this planet is because of video games. And it’s hard to explain exactly why, because there are a myriad of reasons I feel this way, but it is absolutely true, as ridiculous as it might sound.

Games have always been important to me. But over the last few years in particular — since about 2010 or so — I feel like I’ve really found the niche of games that interest and excite me, along with a group of publishers and developers who consistently and regularly put out things that keep me enthralled for hours on end. These games engage my emotions and draw me in with their stories and characterisation; these games make me feel like I can be someone that I’m not; these games put me in a situation where, while there might be problems and strife, there’s always a way to deal with it, however challenging.

As I became more and more conscious of how I felt about these games, I started “stockpiling” — picking up games that I had no real intention of playing immediately, but which I wanted to add to my collection while they were still reasonably readily available. I also started re-acquiring games that I had previously owned that had made me feel the same way. And, one by one, I’d work my way through them, constantly finding new and enjoyable experiences to discover — even where, in many cases, said experiences weren’t received particularly well by critics.

And here’s how games saved me: the knowledge that in every DVD case on my bookshelf there is a new experience to be had; a new world to explore; new characters to fall in love with — that’s the one thing that, every time, pulls me back from the brink of doing something drastic, however dark the situation in which I find myself might be, and however persistent those horrible thoughts in my head might be. I have literally had the thought “I can’t die until I’ve played all the Neptunia games”. I have literally had the thought “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve played all the Ateliers“. And so on and so on; so much do I value these experiences — and the ability to talk and enthuse about them with those people I know who do respect my interests, even if they don’t share them — that I can’t bring myself to even hurt myself, let alone make an attempt on my own life.

You may think this is a dumb reason to keep living. You may think that this is unhealthy. You may think that there are more deep-seated problems here (and you’d be right). But trust me when I say: when even a tiny part of your brain starts considering whether or not you’re really needed in this plane of existence any more, the part of you that is still concerned with self-preservation will cling on to any thing — however dumb it might be — that will help you survive.

For me, that thing is video games, and to my reckoning they’ve saved me from three particularly bad periods in my life: the nervous breakdown that convinced me once and for all that no, classroom teaching was not the career for me; my first wife and I parting ways; and my recent employment woes.

Hopefully it is now clear to you, dear reader, how important video games are to me. And, bearing in mind how important they are to me, can you perhaps understand how frustrating and upsetting it is to me when a needless, pointless cultural war comes stomping all over them — with the games that resonate with me the most inevitably being the ones that come under the heaviest fire from some of the most obnoxious people on the Internet?

Video games — as they are today, regardless of how “problematic” or whatever other bullshit adjectives you want to apply to them — saved my life. So you damn well better believe I will fight back with all my might against anyone who wants to change them and the culture surrounding them for the worse.

Video games saved my life. Thank you, video games — and everyone who makes them.

(Here’s the source for the awesome image the header pic is based on, if you were curious.)

1226: Call Me ‘Pan’

I have been contemplating my own mortality lately.

Actually, that’s a total lie. I’ve simply been pondering what it means to be 32 years old, and whether society expects something different of me to what I am providing.

You see, in many ways I consider myself to be a “grown up” but in lots of others I feel very immature, and I’m actually quite pleased about the latter part. I still feel odd when I hear, say, a mother in a supermarket refer to me as “that man” rather than “that boy” when telling her child to get out of my way. Conversely, I don’t feel any shame in purchasing things that are for adults (get your mind out of the gutter) such as alcohol, 18-rated videos or mature-rated games or other media. I occupy a sort of weird middle ground where I’m aware I’m an adult, but I have no particular desire to start acting like one.

Why am I babbling on about this? Well, it stems from a conversation Andie and I just had where we both agreed that when I’m 60+ I will probably still be happy to sit around in my pants playing video games where girls’ clothes fall off to allow them to absorb more magic from the air, or to bust out the board games for a social occasion rather than doing something more dignified like a dinner party or whatever. I will also probably never stop finding burping, farting and the word “cock” funny.

I feel pretty confident that that is how my life is probably going to go. And I have absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. (Neither does Andie, I might add.)

Why? Because being a grown-up is boring. Being a grown-up means being interested in things like bank accounts and shares and insurance providers and all manner of other equally tedious things. I’m aware that many of these things are essential to survival, but I just don’t have the time, energy or inclination to waste on them any more than necessary. I keep my financial arrangements simple but effective, for example, and so long as service providers such as insurers and utilities aren’t actively robbing me, I’m happy to pay them their money just so I don’t have to think about complicated things. About the most “grown-up” thing I’m prepared to entertain the thought of is buying a house, and even then that’s largely because 1) I want a cat and 2) I want to be able to put up awesome pictures without having to worry about where I’m putting holes in the walls.

There are doubtless some people out there who would chide me for this arguably reckless attitude, but the fact is that — at present, anyway — I’m happy with the way my life is in terms of boring things like financial security and who supplies electricity to my flat. And, frankly, my own ultimate goal for existence isn’t particularly lofty or ambitious — I just want to be happy. As longtime readers of this blog will probably know, I have had more than a few lengthy periods of unhappiness over the years, so my current state of reasonable contentment is quite enjoyable, frankly. Long may it continue.

The only really frustrating thing about taking this approach to life is, of course, the fact that not everyone around shares the same desire to remain “young at heart”. Some people I know actively want to be grown-ups, and to have grown-up responsibilities and whatnot. Some people I know get excited about things like extensions and gardening and their new investments and all manner of other things. And fair play to them, if that’s what makes them happy. I just don’t find anything either interesting or desirable in behaving in that manner, and that’s why I intend to stay the way I am for as long as I possibly can.

And if you don’t like it, you can &c. &c.

#oneaday, Day 97: Ding! Growing Up

I reached level 80 in World of Warcraft today. This is the first time in any MMORPG that I’ve reached the level cap, and the character with whom I achieved it is the one I started playing on the day the game was released. My friend Tim also reached the milestone in the early hours of this morning, having originally started at the same time as me.

For those who have never got into an MMORPG, talk of reaching the level cap being “just the beginning” of the experience sounds like absolute nonsense. After all, reaching the level cap in a single-player RPG just means that you don’t need to grind any more and can zip through the rest of the story with ease. But reaching 80 in Warcraft, or 50 in City of Heroes, or the rather more casual-player friendly 20 in Guild Wars, is simply a sign of maturity.

In fact, the whole “levelling up as metaphor for life” idea is, on reflection, quite a potent one. Bear with me on this one.

You’re born. You come into the world knowing nothing about it. Everything is new to you. You spend your time exploring, finding out how to do things. Some things you find out for yourself, others you are taught. You’re weak and feeble. You often need help doing things. You make friends. You quickly learn the people to avoid. And all the time, you are learning, growing stronger.

As time goes on, you eventually reach a stage where you have outgrown your home. It doesn’t offer you any challenges any more, so you move on. You say a fond farewell to the familiar surroundings of your home and spread your wings, and during this time you continue to learn new things. Your challenges become greater, and you sometimes still need help, but at other times you can do things for yourself. On the occasions where you return home, everything suddenly feels much smaller. Things which once offered you a huge amount of challenge are now mere trifles to be knocked aside as you pass through.

Time passes. You continue to learn and grow. You move further and further away from your home until you eventually reach a stage where you feel like the world is your oyster. There are still some challenges which seem insurmountable, even with help, but you are feeling more independent. You still feel that you have a lot to learn, and you run into people who have more experience than you regularly, but you know that you are much more capable of finding things out for yourself.

Eventually, after what feels like an extremely long journey, you reach maturity. You are independent. You can go anywhere, you can do anything. You could co-operate with others for a common good. Or you could pursue your own personal goals. You could take possession of bigger and better things to help you become stronger, but there’s nothing more for you to learn. But there are still challenges to overcome. Challenges of your own deciding.

In Warcraft, reaching 80 is reaching maturity. You can go anywhere and do anything. There are no new skills or spells to learn, no way of working to become stronger. It’s all up to you and your possessions to prove your worth. And at this point, being an “adult”, other people start to look up to you. The people who are still at the beginning of their journey look at you, seemingly at the end of yours, and believe that you are someone who knows what they are doing. But you might not. Just because you’ve negotiated the perils of childhood, puberty, adolescence and young adulthood doesn’t mean that you know everything. You might not want to be a leader. You might still want someone to tell you what to do, even though you’re theoretically strong enough to make it on your own.

I often find that online games tend to reflect social values quite nicely. Past experiences with Second Life, in particular, have been interesting, but the same thing happens in Warcraft. I’m nearly thirty years old, but in my daily life I still don’t feel like a “leader”. I’d feel weird if I was placed in charge of a group of people, and it’s the same when I join a party in Warcraft. I don’t have the experience of leadership, though I do have other skills. So I wouldn’t want to be the one bossing a party or a raid around, but I’m happy to follow orders and give my own ideas. It’s the same in reality – I’m happy to follow someone else’s instructions and suggestions, and occasionally chip in myself, but were I to be in charge of a group of people? I’m not sure how I’d handle that.

I guess my past work in teaching is technically a “leadership” role, so I have done it in the past. And I’m completely comfortable showing people how to do things, or explaining things to them. I think the thing which I find most difficult is being decisive on behalf of other people. I fear looking stupid in front of others, or deciding something that turns out not to be of mutual benefit to everyone. So I defer to others. Now, admittedly, in real life you’re unlikely to suffer a “wipe” as a result of a bad decision you made. But there are other ways that things can go wrong. Feelings can be hurt. You can find yourself in a situation you’re not sure how to get out of. Worse, you can feel you’ve trapped other people in a situation you don’t know how to get out of.

Decisiveness is clearly an art to learn, whether you’re a level 80 mage or a level 0 everyman. And there’s no class trainer to help you with that one!