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.)

2089: Connect the Dots

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.”

“Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.”

When looking for “entirely uninteresting stories”, your first port of call should almost certainly be your local newspaper. Sure enough, the Daily Echo didn’t disappoint with this marvel:

BREAKING: City bridge closed due to ‘police incident’

A SOUTHAMPTON bridge was closed this evening due to a ‘police incident’.

The Itchen Bridge was shut at around 6.30pm but the exact nature of the incident is unknown.

And the bridge was quickly reopened at 6.40pm.

This is currently the top story on the Daily Echo website, which probably gives you an idea of the sorts of things that get posted on there. But let’s ponder the actual question from the daily post: how this connects to my life in some way.

Well, okay. This is actually quite an easy one in many ways. The most obvious connection, of course, is that I live in Southampton, and consequently I know where the Itchen Bridge is. But the connection actually runs a little deeper than that: about five or six years ago, I used to live very near the Itchen Bridge in the town centre. The bridge itself was within walking distance, only about five minutes or so away. This didn’t really have much of an impact on my life for the most part, as I tended to find other ways to cross the river owing to the toll gates at the other side of the Itchen Bridge. But during my oft-mentioned “difficult period” in my life — the time my first wife left and my life pretty much fell apart — the bridge became somewhere that I liked to occasionally head towards in order to just stand and reflect.

I don’t think I ever seriously considered jumping off the bridge, though with my mental state at the time I won’t lie to you: I certainly thought about it more than once or twice. Ultimately I knew that I’d never actually have the courage to do it, though, for all manner of reasons: firstly, part of me, despite being deeper in a pit of misery than I’d ever been in my whole life, I didn’t really want to die; secondly, even contemplating that sort of thing made me feel guilty about the people I’d leave behind; thirdly, the idea of jumping off a bridge into horrible dirty water sounded both terrifying and unpleasant. And, I mean, I know killing yourself (or the contemplation thereof) isn’t particularly pleasant anyway, but I kind of figured there were easier, less painful ways to do it.

That didn’t stop me regularly going out to that bridge, though, noticing the Samaritans stickers on the railings every time I walked up to its highest point to look out over the water. I never called them — as I say, I knew that I didn’t really want to jump — but they always gave me pause when I saw them. Perhaps they did help, in their own way.

Eventually I settled for getting these musings out of my system with a piece of creative writing. In the short first-person narrative — which was left a little open-ended in case I wanted to expand it into a full-on story at some point — the protagonist, who was very obviously me, walked out to a bridge that was very obviously the Itchen Bridge, tormented by his own despair, and jumped. At the last moment, he was saved from his seemingly inevitable demise by a character I’d created and had my own story in mind for; this particular little narrative was set after that other story, even though, to date, I still haven’t written all of it. In other words, the character who saved me was the character as she was at what I had planned to be the conclusion of her original tale; as it happened, she fit nicely into this little fantasy scenario, though.

But I digress. How does this news story connect to my life? Well, my first thought upon reading the headline of the story on the Daily Echo website was “someone’s probably jumped”. Given that the bridge was re-opened after just ten minutes, though, I wonder whether that was really the case or not; at the moment, it looks pretty much like a non-story, despite its prominent billing on the Daily Echo website. I guess my thought process ran something along the lines of “I wonder if there would have been a story like that on the Daily Echo website if I’d actually given in to my despair and jumped back in those dark days?”

Bleak? Oh, absolutely and definitely. But, well, there you go. That’s me.

#oneaday Day 800: 800 Days of Nonsense

So, 800 days of daily blogging it is. I feel like I should have some sort of celebration or something, but since it’s 1:15 in the morning and I’m rather tired and achey after a gym session earlier, it can probably wait.

At this juncture, I feel it would be nice to just say a big “thank you” to those of you who have been reading my regular gibberish, and an especially big “thank you” to those of you who contribute comments and engage in discussions. The last couple of months in particular seem to have seen a few new people coming my way, so welcome to those of you who are newcomers.

I may regularly protest that I’m not writing this blog “for” anyone and I actually stand by that — I write these posts each day as an outlet, a form of escapism or, at times, catharsis. They have proven very effective on that front over the last couple of years. I’d go so far as to say that surviving some of the trials and tribulations my life has thrown my way would have been considerably more difficult — possibly insurmountable, though we’ll never know (unless dimension-jumping technology gets invented) — without this faithful old WordPress page to empty my brain onto.

That said, it’s fun and — I won’t lie — a little bit exciting when people leave a comment and start a discussion. I believe most bloggers feel that way. Getting comments is a sign of “approval” — not necessarily of your opinions, but of the means through which you’ve argued them. Inspiring a comment, be it an “agree” or a “disagree”, means that you’ve moved someone to actually say something rather than just click the Like button. (There’s nothing wrong with that, incidentally — if you just enjoyed/appreciated a post but have nothing further to add, a Like is always gratefully received.) And so far as I can remember, most (if not all) comments on this here site have been respectful, interesting and showing willingness to engage in conversation. Also people who read this seem to be able to spell and punctuate correctly, which is always a massive bonus in this Facebook-dominated world where everyone seems to think that capital letters are just an inconvenience.

So after 800 daily posts, what now? 800 more, of course! Though I must confess in recent months it’s been becoming harder and harder to think of things to write about. Oddly enough I feel that some of my most creative work on this blog was done during possibly the worst period of my life, perhaps as a means of escaping the crushing depression of what was going on in “reality” at the time. They say that artists produce their best work when tortured, and while I certainly wouldn’t refer to this site and these 800+ posts as “art”, it’s clear that whatever Shit I’ve Had Going Down at various points over the last 800 days has affected the things I write about — whether consciously or subconsciously. In that sense, I often find it interesting to skip back to a random post and not only read it but also picture the context of what was going on in my life at that time. It’s an interesting — if sometimes painful — journey that I’ve taken, and to have chronicled it quite so exhaustively (if not always explicitly describing exactly what happened each day) is something I can look back on with a degree of pride and satisfaction.

As I approach my 31st birthday (April 29th, please send money or gifts to the usual address) I don’t know what the future holds for me — personally, professionally, physically, mentally. But so long as I’ve got this text editor window and a “Publish” button I’m confident I can deal with whatever comes this way.

#oneaday Day 720: To the Lurkers

As a somewhat belated and not-very-difficult-to-accomplish New Year’s resolution, I thought I’d make a specific effort to try and engage a bit more with those who leave comments on here. Being a relatively directionless personal blog, of course, the vast majority of my readership is made up of people that I already know in real life (or quasi-real life, otherwise known as “elsewhere on the Internet”). But in the last year particularly, I’ve seen quite a few people showing up here who aren’t among my immediate group of close friends.

That’s not a bad thing! Don’t shy away!

Whew. Thought I’d lost you for a minute.

Anyway, to all new readers, I’d like to say a big hello! And to those who have been reading for quite some time, hello! and thanks for reading!

I know there’s quite a few people out there who read but never comment, either, so I thought it might be nice to devote this whole post to us just getting to know one another a bit. If you’re a lurker and you’ve never commented on this blog, why not make this the first post you write a message on? If you’re a long-time commenter, why not get to know some of the other random people who frequent this site and strike up some friendships between the disparate social circles in which I move, both on and offline.

Of course, this is all a moot point if no-one comments on this post, so I’m hoping that I don’t end up looking somewhat foolish by putting this post up only to receive no responses whatsoever. And this isn’t a shallow, thinly-veiled attempt to get more comments — well, it sort of is, but that’s not the primary point. Many bloggers seem to measure their worth by how many comments they get. Me? I’m just curious as to who out there is reading this, who they are, what they’re doing and what brought them here.

So I’ll start. I’m Pete. I’m 30 years old. Were my girlfriend writing this, she would have emphasised the word “old” since she is several years my junior. I live in Chippenham, which is a small and unremarkable town in Wiltshire, somewhere in the depths of the West Country of the United Kingdom. I live with my girlfriend Andie in a small two bedroom house which has two very friendly cats named Artie and Chester who live next door and frequently barge their way into our house.

Until the end of last year, I was a writer for GamePro.com, which sadly folded at the end of last year. Currently, I write for Inside Network covering social games and mobile apps, and am looking for a little more work with which to top up the money I’m getting from that. In past lives, I’ve been a teacher in both primary and secondary schools (swearing “never again” to both), a supply teacher (ditto), a Creative and a Specialist in the Southampton Apple Store, a temp at the Most Depressing Company In The World (a loss adjusters, if you’re familiar with the concept), and at university I was a starters chef at a pub and The Man Who Collected Glasses and Cleaned Up Sick at a grotty, “trendy” bar in Southampton city centre.

I went to university in Southampton for four years, the first three of which were spent studying English and Music, a more useless combination of subjects I don’t think it’s possible to pick when considering future employment prospects. (Kids: ignore anyone who says English is a “good, general degree”) The last year was spent doing a PGCE (Postgraduate Certificate of Education) — in other words, training to be a teacher.

I got married in October of 2008 but my wife and I split in May of 2010, an experience which was quite possibly the most emotionally agonising, painful thing I’ve ever been through. I made it out the other side, though, and can accept that mistakes were made on both sides, and have moved on.

I like video games, cats, music (I play the piano, clarinet and saxophone), drawing stickmen, my iPhone, reading, writing, blogging, the Internet, Community, Friends, Spaced and friends with whom I can both talk seriously and make jokes about flatulence. I hate onions, spiders, leeks, The X-Factor, people who won’t shut up about platform wars on either console or mobile (seriously! Just use what makes you happy, and stop telling other people they’re wrong and/or gay), Facebook Timeline, spam (on the Internet, not the meat), Big Brother, reality TV in general and the sort of teenager who wears tracksuits that look like pyjamas and too much Lynx.

That’s me, handily summed up in a few paragraphs. A more comprehensive breakdown of my skills can be found here. Any questions?

So what about you? Who are you? Why are you reading this? Where did you come from? Do you think I’m se– no, wait, that’s a different list.

#oneaday, Day 300!

Other people may have made it to this milestone before me, but here I am: day 300. I am going to resist any “This Is Sparta”-type quotes here, largely because I haven’t seen 300 and also because that whole meme is kind of played out, really.

So, here we are. This day arrived with little in the way of fanfare and, in fact, a bunch of tweets and posts ranting about things which happened to other people. But I think today of all days I’ve earned the right to be a bit selfish, to say things about me. So that’s what I’m going to do.

This is very much the home stretch now, of course, with just 65 days remaining until I’ve completed a full year of non-stop blogging. Well, not non-stop, but daily. You know what I mean.

It’s been one hell of a journey, as those who have been following from the start (and prior to that) will be able to attest. And it’s not, naturally, the course I would have chosen this year to take had I the opportunity to decide my own destiny on a moment-to-moment basis. But, unfortunately, sometimes the consequences of the things you do and the choices you make aren’t immediately apparent, and it’s not until months or years later that you realise you were heading down one road when you thought you were heading down another. A big step in life’s journey is accepting that sometimes things don’t go the way you expect them to, and thus you will have to learn to deal with them, for better or worse. Most of the time, you do have choices, although they might not be clear at the time. And, decisions to murder, rape and pillage notwithstanding, there are no “wrong” choices per se, so long as you’re just willing to deal with the knock-on effects that your choices have.

Back on January 19 of this year, I made the decision to take on the #oneaday challenge. It’s a decision I’m glad I took, as it’s a habitual process now; it’s something I enjoy doing every day and if nothing else, it’ll provide an interesting record of a particularly difficult year in my life. It got me to thinking, though; does every year contain as many “events” as this one has? In my 29-and-a-bit years on this planet, is every year so filled with things that are “interesting” and affecting? Quite possibly; it’s just that most of the time, things happen, they pass by and you forget about them. And making a note of them may make some things seem bigger than they actually are. But on the flip-side, looking back at things that happened with the benefit of hindsight can make you feel better about them.

I’m not saying this is how I’d have chosen 2010 to go for myself. If I had completely free choice, I’d have won the lottery, bought an exciting car, be living in a nice (but not excessive house) with at least one cat and maybe be doing a bit of freelancing. Or possibly I might have invented faster-than-light travel and gone into space. I couldn’t say. I didn’t have completely free choice, sadly.

But here I am, 300 days later, and I’m at a stage where I can look back in a contemplative manner, stroke my beard and go “Hmm”. This is a better state to be in than I have been in the past. So here’s hoping that over the next 65 days that things only continue to get better.

And to all of you who have been following this blog, however long you’ve been reading it for, thanks for coming along for the ride. Your thoughts, comments and support have been very much appreciated. Here’s to that final push.