The very first video game I played was on the Nintendo 64 console. We had received the console for Christmas, my two little brothers and I, with the Star Wars pod-racing game which tied into the latest movie, The Phantom Menace. I loved that game so much it made me fall in love with racing games in general. I’d later go on to play Need for Speed and Mario Kart, which is still to this day a favorite game of mine; I’m the crowned champion of my friend group.
When my brothers got into RPG shooter games, I wasn’t very interested in exploring and playing with them anymore. The first RPG game I played with the serious intent of getting through it was Diablo III; my boyfriend had been playing it a lot and I wanted to experience it as well. I played either on his PC, or my brothers’ PC, since I didn’t have a computer that could handle the game. When the time came to build my character, I chose the demon hunter. I didn’t feel like being a character using magic or brute force, and the design of the female demon hunter, as well as the character’s use of traps and stealth, appealed to me instinctively.
The demon hunter is a very defensive character—they stay at a distance, attacking with long-range weapons such as crossbows, and aren’t built to engage in melee attacks. I managed to get through the game and enjoy it, apart from the boss fights. Those sequences were so intense and stressful that I couldn’t handle them; I’d tense up, do a lot of keyboard smashing and pause several times to calm down. After several attempts, I would eventually give up and ask either my boyfriend or my brothers to get my character through the boss fight for me.
That experience, while it had been satisfying, had left me a bit out of breath. Not being able to deal with the bosses, even though I’d managed through the rest of the game just fine, made me feel like I was not good enough, or that something in me was not working. I was convinced I was not good at video games other than racing games, and that they weren’t for me. It was only several years later, well into therapy for depression and C-PTSD, that I gave a chance to another game, Horizon Zero Dawn. Once again, the character is more of a sneaky, defensive type, relying on long-range attacks and traps, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But, I had the same problem as before: When I was confronted by boss fights or more engaged melee attacks, I was truly frightened, as if I was there for real and not just through a screen. I would freeze: even if my fingers were attuned to the controller, my muscle memory would suddenly disappear; I would feel panic bubble up in my chest, and my shoulders tense up towards my ears; my face and torso would get really hot and sweaty; and finally, unable to deal with the attack, I’d close my eyes and fling the controller across the room, breathless. I wasn’t consciously choosing to throw the controller, it just happened: it felt like a hot potato in my hands, and I just had to let go of it to disengage and escape.
The first time it happened, my boyfriend was surprised, and a bit mad: he dislikes outbursts of violence and destruction, and is a very level-headed person. He didn’t stay mad very long when he realized I wasn’t in control, and grew worried instead. I couldn’t explain my violent reactions to him, or myself — why was I having such a hard time dealing with my emotions in times of stress during the game? Eventually, I made the link between my response and my mental trauma: my C-PTSD was engaging my fight-or-flight response, which also includes freeze and fawn responses. I hadn’t really been aware of it at the time, when I was playing Diablo III. It was only after numerous years in therapy that I could now recognize it. Instinctively, I had been choosing defensive characters to avoid melee attacks and the stress that accompanies it. Having been in abusive situations as a child, to fight was never an option, as it would usually get me into even more trouble. I had two typical trauma responses; freeze, often being unable to leave the situation or not know how to deal with it, and flight, isolating in my bedroom with music loudly playing in my headphones. I even pushed flight further as a teen, sleeping over at friends’ houses as often as possible on week-ends.
Ever since I started therapy, coming to terms with my mental conditions has been a process. Realizing how it affects my everyday life is like peeking behind a curtain I didn’t know was there before — there was a reason for how I reacted to some things, and I had to watch out for specific things. I would later learn that these are called triggers, and being in the midst of a conflict, possibly cornered, and overwhelmed, was a strong one for me. While it might seem like a barrier to outsiders, I’ve found that this knowledge is liberating. I am able to play games, and I am a gamer; just a disabled one. I can now better choose the games I want to play based on the triggers I have, and if a game really interests me but has strong potential triggers, I can plan for it. I have many options; I can play with my boyfriend, being an active viewer and making choices together, or I can watch a play-through from a streamer I enjoy, making it possible to enjoy the game without having to play through my triggers. For example, I am planning to back-seat play Cyberpunk 2077 with my boyfriend, but keep the next Zelda game (which has been announced for what feels like a decade now) as a game I can play through by myself. Being able to curate the games I play more efficiently enhances my gaming experience, which will just get better from now on—an exciting prospect.
About the Author
Billie Gagné-LeBel is a queer freelance writer and content creator who loves to explore questions of identity and mental health, alternative relationships and lifestyles, beauty and all things pop/geek culture. She writes for her own blog and publications such as MSN, Screen Rant and Read Quebec, and does copywriting and social media creation for a range of clients.
