I think it took me a long while before I stopped using video games as a medication.
Video games have always been an escape for me. Parents yelling at each other? Ignore them, play video games. Parents yelling at me for something I did? Ignore them, play video games. Bullied in school? Ignore it, play video games.
I'm not going to blame society or my parents for me being sucked in. I do know that when I was depressed after a really bad knee injury, I played video games. The week spent recuperating, sedated on percocet, I played WWI medic. It was about saving people, patching people up, as they lay on the battlefield: their little pixelated sprites writhing in pain, moaning from getting hit by machine gun fire, artillery shell fragments, or terrible mustard gas. I tried to save as many of them as I could, but I could never save them all. I didn't care.
When my cousin committed suicide, I attended his wake. I didn't shed a tear. When my great aunt died about one year after her husband had passed, I wasn't even slightly disturbed. Any thoughts about her would be shoved away, I would distract myself. When my uncle died, I cried at his funeral, but I controlled myself.
Every time something bad happened, I used video games to distract me. But by the summer after my senior year, it was what I used to distract me from everything. Everything brought me pain, so I shut myself off from it. I thought about committing suicide, but I understood that, too, would hurt people. I had violent thoughts, about death and destruction, shooting people. I hated those thoughts. My mind was splitting, but the part that always empathized, always said "no." That part stayed in control. I think in part it is due to me being left-handed, and thus my right brain being dominant.
The video games I played became more abstract. Less graphical, more statistical. Games like Europa Universalis III, Dwarf Fortress, Aurora, Arma 2.
I hated reality so much I had to escape from even its graphical representations. I spent every day playing video games. When unable to play them, I looked at them, looked for things to do relating to them.
I was incredibly cynical. I viewed life as this abomination, something everyone had to suffer through. Combine this with my scientific beliefs, and I saw no point in existence, no hope for life. I thought that happiness was this emotion you experienced when you had no pain to worry about. I didn't like people who were happy. I believed in nothing.
Pain was my specter. Every day, I felt my knee remind me that I was flawed, that I was broken. I hated myself. Confidence, never one of my strong suits, was a word that held no personal definition, save for it being something other people had. I could act it: I've been acting since elementary school. I'm good at it, considering I acted every day in front of everyone, including my close friends. I told them that I was fine, I would smile. There was little sincerity.
In August, I went on a camping trip with 18 other people. I experienced the wilderness around northern Virginia, hiking, mountain climbing, and kayaking. I let them know part of my story, as we all shared with each other some of our deepest secrets, our most personal beliefs. I am still incredibly close to them: one of the guys my closest friend, another a girl I love very deeply. I do not think she is ready for me to tell her that.
I enjoyed university. Though there was authority, I had personal autonomy. I could literally do whatever I wanted, as long as I wasn't caught. One of my roommates is from Amsterdam, and we smoked some weed at the midpoint of the semester. I enjoyed parties, wandering around and seeing everybody so happy, while I was drunk.
I still had the lingering sadness, but now there was so much to distract me, so much to do, that I no longer cared. I stopped playing video games, as I could do everything or nothing with everybody or nobody. I hated going home: every time I did I would revert to playing video games. As the semester slowed down in the midpoint, I started playing video games more.
Then, around late November, I started smoking weed with my roommate. A lot of weed. We smoked at least an ounce in a three week period, but it was probably more. I bought my own bowl. It was great.
Then, on the 1st of December, a Saturday night, about 4 AM, I was alone. I had a nice bowl, and I went by myself to smoke it. It was the first time I had ever smoked by myself.
It was harrowing. I was avoiding the campus police, knowing full well of the consequences should I get caught. I made sure I left little, if any, evidence of my being where I smoked. I made it back to my room, realizing I had succeeded. I was alone, listening to music, and I was high. I was happy by myself.
It was the happiest, the most relaxed, I had ever been up into that point. I broke down in tears realizing what true happiness was, that wonderful feeling in your entire body, the warm feeling in your chest. My brain was relaxed. I wrote a post on Reddit, in r/trees, the next day. I was a new man.
My imagination was working at peak efficiency again. I saw the world with new eyes: nature held a new beauty. Everything was enjoyable finally: listening to music, sitting and talking with people for hours, walking.
That Monday I walked around, a new person. I looked at a girl, and she checked me out and smiled a bit. It was the smallest gesture, but to me it was just another thing to bolster my new-found self-confidence: finally, I believed in myself.
As I realized what confidence was, how amazing it was, I realized something else: I loved humanity. Sure, there were some complete assholes. Monsters, who gained power, wealth, and fame from the detriment of others. But when I looked around and saw everybody, every person living their lives, I saw incredible beauty. I no longer just knew people, I understood them.
It took a long while, but I finally connected my separate halves. My knowledge, and my experience. My logic with my humanity. Now, I understand why I am attracted to people. I understand the difference between love and pure physical lust. I understand why women and men think so differently. I understand that though I know much, there is still much to learn. And I find it all wonderful.
I no longer am addicted to video games. Don't get me wrong, I love them. There's nothing quite as thrilling as putting satellites into orbit in Kerbal Space Program, in executing a wonderful campaign in Europa Universalis III, in pwnin some nubs in Black Ops 2. I know the mechanics behind the game, and I understand the creativity needed to have fun with them.
I have done bad as well as good, and I apologize for my mistakes every day. But understanding that mistakes can be learned from, that the bad will help you understand the good that much better, that was my greatest pinnacle in understanding.
I write this, not because I want someone to feel sorry for me, nor to model their life after me. Please, if you are genuinely happy, do not feel the need to drink, nor do drugs. If you are incredibly sad, and see no more joy in life, seek out psychiatric help. Better yet, talk to a friend or a parent.
I write this as a chronicle of myself, a closing of a chapter in my life. I am done being the responsible child that I was, one that was klutzy and cynical and incredibly sad. I have begun the new chapter, one of a young adult, happy to be alive. I recognize my faults, the faults of society, the faults of humanity. I also recognize the incredible amount of strengths, in myself, in society, in humanity.
Love, Compassion, Humor (coincidentally, medieval medicine taught that humors were required to be in balance in order to have a good person), Humility, Curiosity, and Wisdom are but a few traits of what makes humans, and humanity, great.
I have my own personal beliefs. I hope that they change over time as I learn more about life, the universe, and everything. I am an open-minded individual, so any knowledge that is shared is good knowledge, knowledge that can be processed, and used to synthesize better knowledge.
I guess I should wrap this up, seeing as I'm out of things to write, and that my brain is sending me signals to stop thinking so much. I love life. I hate those who take life away from others, those who seek to bring unhappiness upon others. I understand that life is not perfect, and that there will be many hardships in the years to come. I also realize there is much happiness, and joy to come.
I close this out, realizing this is chronicling not my entire life, but a mere chapter. I will write more later, and hope to share my love of life with the world. I am incredibly glad that I am finally serene.
Just needed to write it out, get it all of my chest. I'm organizing my mind.
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Topic: A Chronicle of Myself: Self-Reflection (Read 672 times)