How fostering myself with formidable friends on an online ecosystem replaced self-doubts into radiating confidence.
I have been enamored with playing video games dating back to the years of my youth. Just prior to my “bedtime” I would often lessen the volume to zero on my family’s living room television to furtively allow a seamless return to my playing session at the time, after my parents had left to bed themselves. I played constantly to a point of exhaustion, often inflicting myself with either pink-eye or violet-tinted bags beneath my already bloodshot eyeballs. Presently I agree with my mother, that I should have went outside more to play with the neighborhood children and become at least relatively associative with others. Back then though, even at my young age, I was severely critical of myself and became a diminished toddler due to a glaring genetic inconsistency – I had been diagnosed with alopecia areata, a disease initiating unexplained hair-loss (also concluding with severe alienation).
Daily, I entered the realm of PlayStation in an effort to escape from the incredulous stares reality presented me. I became increasingly addicted to the escape that I was routinely urged out of the house to do something kinetic and stimulate myself. Hesitant to the requests, I would follow them reluctantly and imagine a video game game outside. They were my life because they were the only times I felt secure with myself, and I was proud knowing I had developed evident skill and technique with a controller. I tried to impress classmates and others of my achievements, but was quickly dismissed with disdainful remarks to my “lazy ambitions.” Little would I know that several years later, the belittlement of video games would evolve drastically – from an activity kept silent about at school, to an ecosystem where I met dozens of candid, mature individuals whom helped me subtly rise from the shell that concealed me.
As I grew from a timid child contrasted by his short attention-span into a lanky teenager, my interest of the digital escape had grown as well. I now possessed my very own PlayStation 3, earned with funds I had accumulated myself earlier that summer. The admiration to the system from young teen should be expected. Later that year I developed an understanding with how a wired connection works on routers – a laughable challenge these days – and instantly loaded myself into my first online matches of any video game. My decision was the system’s launch shooter, Resistance: Fall of Man. I routinely spent weekends with a few friends taking turns on deathmatches, staying up till the sunlight emerged in the morning which fittingly hinted a suggestion to finally depart to bed. It never became a boring cycle, even alone, regardless of it’s repetitiveness and it all entered an entirely new phase as Christmas came around. I had received my first wireless headset as a gift and immediately hooked it up that day so I could share audible tactics online with any team members willing.
Enough matches progressed for me to find a tight-knit community of equally humble and competitive gamers congruent to myself. As our activities ensued, our relationships and respect for each other grew. We began calling each other by first names, adapted to the time zones of each other to play with a collective participation. This was also when I noticed myself becoming more engaged and lively throughout the day outside of video games, such as school and local sports. As these people – ranging from youthful teens to dormant adults – spoke to me more, I began speaking more. Not just to them, but to my parents, peers of school, teachers, and all authoritative figures. I quickly became as energetic as I always should have been, and propose with certainty that online gaming helped me achieve this.
My identity on the PlayStation Network dismissed my physical oddities. I was no longer targetable and able to be thrown around. I was no longer able to be criticized for my haphazard genetics differing drastically than everyone else. I became a mysterious voice, and developed into a true friend for many people. Some days I would spend the entire night completing objectives with people I had never met before, though we were motivated with mutual ambitions connecting us in a comfortably unique way. They weren’t just PSN friends I had become accustomed with – they were real friends. I familiarized myself with names, time zones, etc. knowing when they will and won’t be online; if they had to work the next evening, if their son returned for the weekend, if they had a boxing match they’d be training for – a wildly diverse schedule I adapted to. The enigma of anonymous acceptance allowed me to become a truly positive person. They laughed at my jokes, they glorified my trophies/achievements, they spoke with maturity (something laughably rare within my demographic at the time). They provided me a sense of identity I never had anywhere else. I was no longed dismissed for my appearance and first impression, I was an important friend to dozens of people spanning across the globe.
As I’ve grown over the years, slowly approaching maturity, I’ve established one thing: Video games and “gaming” itself is no longer a mere, petty hobby. It’s an insanely inclusive realm of solace. There’s a plethora of experiences for each niche that everybody could possibly be sided towards; whether it’s creepy dancing on PlayStation Home near bubble-machines or the banter between competitors in a heated deathmatch, it’s all a subtle escape to become something the mundane platform “life” simply can’t emulate without a screen or superpowers. The freedom permitted within online gaming provided me the esteem to carry on in the real world, with much more alacrity inside of me than I had ever felt before – for this I am extremely thankful. Here’s to 2014 and the experiences to anticipate!
