found
at http://www.netjak.com/review.php/1156
This past
Saturday, I reveled in a man's death without any shred of regret, and I'm going
to talk about why this week. Nothing funny, and in fact this might be the
darkest piece I'll ever write. If this bothers you, and you don't want to see
one gamer's inner darkness revealed and how it relates to his video gaming
habits, come back next week. For those that wish to stay, this is a story about
how I grew to loathe video gaming, and how I came back to it.
Growing up, I used
to love going to stay with my maternal grandparents. They weren't really my
grandparents; my mom was adopted. But I was always treated well, and my sister
and I would go frequently. Each would nurture a different passion in me. From
Nan, she gave me a love of professional sports, and the bitterness that arises
from cheering from a Philadelphia franchise. From Pop, I was encouraged as much
as possible to fiddle with technology. I would always implore him to play video
games, and he'd quite frequently suggest I play one if a Phillies or Eagles game
wasn't on. I didn't think anything of it at the time.
And this
arrangement went on for about the entire time I lived in South Jersey (there
were about three years when I lived in western Pennsylvania), up until I was
around 12. It was late winter or early spring, and my sister's tenth birthday
was coming up. One day, we came home from school, and we knew our mom and her
boyfriend weren't going to be home from work for a few hours. And so my sister
finally built up the courage to tell me her darkest secret.
"Rick,"
she said, obviously afraid and nervous, "I have to tell you
something." Now, my sister and I got along (and indeed, still get along)
better than most, so I had what was the natural instinct in such a situation,
and the urge to comfort her and seriously hurt whichever made her feel
bad. So I encouraged her to continue. And that's when she told me that Pop –
no, in my mind he stopped deserving that title the second I knew, so I'll call
him by his last name, Oakley – had been sexually abusing her since she was
three.
That had to be,
easily, the worst moment of my life. My whole world was shattered, and I
honestly froze. My brain turned to denial at first, as is human instinct. But I
knew my sister wouldn’t lie about such things, not about something so huge and
damning. So I nodded, and tried my best to offer comfort and encouragement. But
what was I to do? I was 12 years old. I needed to be an adult, because my sister
needed it. Her life had been systematically destroyed for 7 years, and she was
coming to me because she wanted it to end. I had to let go, because only an
adult could cope with that level of pain.
For a couple
months, I was the only one she would talk to about this, until she started
telling friends, who ultimately alerted people in authority and put an end to
the abuse once and for all. It was what I learned about the abuse in the
following weeks that made me sick. At least once that she could remember, the
abuse happened while I was downstairs, playing The Legend of Zelda. More than
once, it happened when I went over a friend's house to play games. I was brought
up like most eldest are brought up, taught that they should keep an eye out and
protect their younger sibling whenever possible. And my love of video games was
used to trick me into abandoning that responsibility.
Feeling is a funny
thing. Now, anyone looking at the scenario rationally would be able to come to
the conclusion that it all started when I was 5 or 6. Even at the end, I was
only 12. What could a boy of that age do in that situation? How could I stop an
adult, who could have easily killed both my sister and I? How could I have even
known until I was told? No rational human being would ever fault me for what
happened. My sister doesn't fault me; to this day, she and I share a level of
trust that goes beyond words. But the human mind and its emotions aren't
rational, and I blamed myself – to some extent, I still do, even. I blamed
myself and my addiction to video games (and I've never been ashamed to admit
that I'm addicted).
That blame was
only the beginning of a spiral of negative emotions. I felt the betrayal that
one person, so trusted for so long, could destroy so much. I felt hurt, in
sympathy with the pain my sister carried around for years. I felt resentment
towards everything that ever distracted me from being the best brother to her
that I could be -–and the Nintendo Entertainment System took the brunt of my
anger there. I even felt a bloodthirst, with the desire to kill anyone around
who could threaten my sister and I. And I saw it even then, that spiral of
darkness, with the endpoint I could see, is how the cycle of destruction is
perpetuated.
So I tried my best
to control it. But it was an odd and vicious circle. The best way I knew to
control my negative emotions was to play video games, and to become the kind of
hero I was afraid I'd never be. But each video game was a reminder of the
failure I felt, the sense that I did nothing for my sister (when it may have
well been the support I gave her when she finally came forward that helped end
it). So each video game was as much pain as it was relief, and each button press
was like a dagger in my heart, even as it removed a different dagger.
I think that
perfectly encapsulates addiction. You keep doing something even as that action
hurts, because it's ironically the only relief you have. I was a poster for
addiction, but nobody was going to force me to quit; it was how I dealt with the
self-imposed pain of failing to be a good brother. I would debate quitting, but
end up returning before a day was done with another binge in a game like Final
Fantasy or The Guardian Legend.
It was my sister
who finally showed me the mistake I was making, and I imagine she probably
doesn't know it (or at least doesn't until she reads this). One habit my sister
got into at a relatively young age was watching me play video games. She didn't
always want to play herself (though she let me know when she did), but she got a
kick out of watching me play. She especially liked it when I played RPGs,
because she and I could pretend to be the heroes fighting evil once I inputted
commands and watched how the turn would come out. That didn't stop once Oakley
was thrown into jail, or after years of therapy. If anything, the video game
references became more constant and nuanced – like the ongoing gag that any
green-haired female in a video game must be renamed Lisa after her. Video games
weren't to blame for what happened, as I knew rationally all along. It was the
cruel vicissitudes of a disgusting mind. If anything, video games offered my
sister and I an escape that we didn't have together anywhere else.
We haven't been
young in a long time. She and I were both broken by the experience, and our
adulthood started before either of us even entered puberty. But with video
games, we're allowed to leave that behind. We could lose ourselves in fantasies,
both of our own designs and those of others. We got to be a brother and sister
who'd fight and tease and support and ultimately unite for fun and comfort. It
was true that it was cut way too short, but in these electronic playgrounds we'd
be able to have at least a spark of it.
That, really, is
the biggest reason I still care as much about video games as I did when I first
started playing, in a time that stretches back so far that I don't recognize the
one named Rick Healey anymore – he's been gone for over a decade and I don't
expect him to return. That one isn't going to return, but even the maturest game
around reminds me of that joy felt way long ago, which nearly left my life.
The story's coda
finally came on April 15th, proving that some good things can come your way on
tax day. I got a call telling me he died the night before, long after a stroke
and the psychological torment he had received from prison had reduced him to an
infantile shell of what he once was. He was broken and was never going to harm
another person years ago, but it still stung to know he was holding on. There
was a palpable relief in both my sister and I to learn he was dead – for once
the victims got to live, and the bad guy finally died. The air even tastes a
little cleaner, like one piece of horror was finally cleansed from this world.
In video games,
the ending is often cut short after a relatively short point, as the heroes look
out to a new day and see the world they saved. If anything, the world was saved
from the evil my family faced over 14 years ago. But that evil is finally dead,
and life has gone on. My sister, as is befitting the heroine of this tragic
tale, has her own life and even her own son now. I live a couple thousand miles
away, but as close as always to her and finally reconciled to the craft which
has brought me both pleasure and pain in the darkest hours of my life. The
sunrise on the 15th heralded our ending. And now, we get to see what happens
afterwards.
Deliberate
Orgasm Duet