On Video Games and Mental Health

An abundance of change happened this year, and with it came the requisite stress on my mental health (👋OCD, Borderline, ADHD).

I tried to bury myself in projects so that my time was beholden to others, thus creating a sort of faux personal responsibility. This afforded myself little time to slip into harmful behavior and dark thoughts, or such was the plan.

Though as with most Okay Ideas, this one only worked to a point. For one, really heavy stress can slip me into the realm of amygdala hijack, which effectively paralyzes my executive functioning - aka, what I need to focus on those projects. Amygdala hijack also goes the opposite direction and makes fear, panic, and irrationality worse. So, as you probably surmised, once my project stamina buff ran out, it was back to base stats (that’s the last of that, I promise).

As with most
Okay Ideas, this one only worked to a point.

From What Remains of Edith Finch, by Giant Sparrow

Now, I’ve always been one to rather gluttonously enmesh myself in video games, especially those that have a certain degree of tedium, skill building, or repetition - especially when paired with strong soundscapes and an engrossing visual environment. Interestingly, I’ve found tedium and repetition to be high on the list of negatives when reading game reviews, which leads me to wonder if these mechanisms are only enjoyable from a certain headspace, or that perhaps I am, indeed, a Philistine. Regardless, these preferences tend to drive me toward open world games, games with strong sneak / snipe options, and/or games that allow for a variety of options the player may take to achieve an in-game operative.

In a similar vein, I trend away from platformers, side-scrollers, heavy-combat FPSs, and visual novels. This blanket preference really keeps me from playing a suite of games that I hear often have heart and solid artistry - not to mention, most independent games fall within one of these categories. So like with any Good Habit, I know I should explore these genres with more patience and purpose, though also rarely find myself sitting down to do so.

But why are my preferences so rigid? They’re just games. I’ll get to that in a moment.

Time spent in front of a screen correlates directly with my degree of mental wellness.

Time spent per play session varies for me wildly. I can spend anywhere from twenty minutes to seven hours on a game in one sitting, or I can play for hour-long segments several times a day, etc etc. While I’ve begun to try and set myself a timer for an acceptable time to play, that adherence goes in and out with my depression just the same as anything else (hello again, higher functioning). Time spent in front of a screen correlates directly with my degree of mental wellness.

This is where video games become a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, an immersive game allows just enough personal and mental space to bring my body and mind back to a comfortable stasis - much like meditation. This works wonders for rumination issues and distraction practice. Distraction and self-soothing are integral to living with panic and rumination disorders such as the hodgepodge of “things” Ive been diagnosed with over the years. I can say with certainty that video games have been the one singular outlet that has effectively combatted my mental disorders since, well, at least since 2003, when I countered my first post-adolescent attack with Final Fantasy X. Immersive games such as those in the open-world genre, can allow for much-needed moments of beauty and respite that one may not be able to find in the real world during a low.

Immersive games can allow for much-needed moments of beauty and respite

From Hideo Kojima’s Death Stranding

Though on the other hand - and something that has begun being questioned in psychological circles regarding distraction tactics - this distraction practice is a very precarious practice, as it can quickly become escapism, which can slide into a quasi-catatonic depression, which inevitably becomes addiction. Gaming hours start racking up once this downward slide begins, while conversely fewer hours are dedicated to self-betterment and growth “IRL.” This is where time spent in front of a screen becomes very telling.

An acceptable amount of time, at least in my opinion, is one to three hours; three being if I’ve really done my due diligence with other responsibilities in my life - akin to eating a dessert or taking a lengthy nap. As with naps and junk food, the closer I get to rock bottom, the more I indulge - likely in part as a means to generate some form of emergency pleasure response. This can equate to playing for long stints throughout the entirety of the day, and playing well past an acceptable bedtime (we’re talking early hours of the morning).

Distraction practice … can slide into a quasi-catatonic depression.

From We Happy Few, by Compulsion Games (aptly named)

This is where I’d like to reintroduce the idea of game preference, particularly in games that are tedious or repetitive. These games require little active attentiveness, and typically involve a sort of equally-repetitive reward system. In this way, while the analytic part of one’s mind is getting something solid to munch on, the rest of the brain is lulled into a type of stupor, with the pleasure processors becoming more and more dependent on those happy little rewards at the end of a run (queue the “like” sounds and flashing lights from Death Stranding). Given that, my preferences in games may very well not be a preference based in genuine enjoyment and fulfillment, but in a dark need to completely disengage from reality and responsibility.

And so this leads me to a duet of questions, both meriting more thought and practice:

Should certain games be outright avoided when in a good headspace?

- and -

Are visual novels / narrative-driven games ideal for practicing mindfulness?