Confessions of a Video Game Addict

         

        I used to play video games a lot more than I do now.  My reasons for the addiction and the remission will both be discussed here.  I say this in such juvenile terms because I appreciate something that tells you what it intends to do and then proceeds to do it.  I own an Xbox 360, as do many males of my gender around the world.  I enjoyed the concept of video games, first and foremost, because at their best games create a world of their own which we, the player, are invited to explore.

            Above all, though, what got me into the game-o-sphere, at a fairly early age I might add, were my friends.  I remember my friend, Ellie, had a Nintendo 64, but she would never, ever, let me play it.  So I simply watched, and pined.  Around the same time, my friend, Evan, got a N64.  He had Banjo-Tooie, and it was a single-player, exploration, puzzle game.  Sometimes I got to play it, but more often than not, I simply watched, and pined.  My parents, for the longest time, didn’t want me to own a game console or mobile gaming device, because they knew games were addictive, and they wanted me to have a bit more on my mind than video games.  So naturally, seeing my friends play them, and not being able to play them myself, video games were often the only thing on my mind. 

            There’s this concept I’m obsessed with called noumenon.  On a purely base level, it’s the opposite of phenomenon; it’s an occurrence that cannot be observed or repeated, like the concept of God.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before and I’m certain I’ll mention it again.  The deeper idea behind it, according to the philosopher Schopenhauer, is that man reaches out for what he cannot have to grasp what he can have.  This plays out almost everywhere, most depressingly in romance.  Video games, however, similarly became noumenal for me.  The N64 in particular.  I finally convinced my parents to let me get a game system, but alas, they had read Consumer Reports and had learned that N64 games were being discontinued, and that the Gamecube was Nintendo’s latest creation. 

            And that was how I missed out on the golden age of gaming, for all of you who have imbibed in the transcendent, orgasmic bliss that is the N64. 

            Once I got the system, I became part of a culture, and as I got older, that became more and more why I kept playing.  I don’t know if athletic retardation is a real affliction, but if it is, I am symptomatic.  I couldn’t tell you practically anything about any sport (with the exception of Lebron and the Cavaliers, because I remember things that make me laugh with evil mirth), but mention what Valve studios is up to, or Bethesda, or Rockstar, and I am all on top of that.  Video games became my Monday night football.  They also became a way to unwind, and to deal with depression or confusion.

         

 Specifically through games about depression and confusion.

   I alluded earlier to the fact that I play them less, and there are several reasons for it, but a very simple one is the following idea, one that was like Leo DiCaprio spinning his wife’s totem in Inception, a simple concept I couldn’t shake:  There’s a whole world of adventure and excitement happening around me…and I’m alone in a dark room, simulating adventure and excitement.  The ESV translation of 1 Corinthians 6:12 sums things up well, saying “’All things are lawful for me,” but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful for me,’ but I will not be enslaved by anything.”  There’s really nothing wrong with immersion in and understanding of video games, but what do we want to define us?  That’s a question that’s driven me in all my cultural dalliances as of late.  Edgar Guest once said, "It takes a load of livin' to make a house a home," but moreso I think it takes a load of living to make your life your own.  

 That wasn't supposed to rhyme, but I'm going to completely own it.

"Everything else is Child's Play."