Bipolar: A Rogue-Like Adventure

As I sat in a windowless office, a doctor proceeded to explain the severity of bipolar disease; two thirds of life would be varying degrees of depression. The room began to fade and in that moment, I felt nothing, and liked it. I had become emotionally numb in those fleeting moments, and it was okay. It was something better than the ever worsening depression that forced me out of my day job.

As I left, now enrolled in a partial hospitalization program, I filled the prescriptions given for both bipolar and insomnia. When I made it home, I sat on my bed, looked at the bottle, and cried. I then ingested the entire bottle.

14.8 million Americans suffered depression in the past year. Approximately 5.7 million US adults are affected per year with bipolar while 1 in 5 successfully completed suicide. For better or worse, I wasn’t in the second statistic.

I woke up the next morning sick and vomiting. Apparently, when someone has a penchant for severe mood swings smart doctors don’t allow a prescription with enough potency for overdose.

Over the next two weeks I coaxed myself out of bed to drive an hour for 8 hours of help. I would sit in a group of others inflicted with different afflictions, and I felt alone. In fact, my time with these people made me feel much worse. It’s hard to relate to others’ problems when all I could reply was, “I’m sad because I’m sad.”

Bipolar and depression, or any mental disorder, are hard concepts to explain. If someone breaks their arm, people can understand it as it’s there visually.

There is knowledge that after a certain period of time, it will return to form. Mental illnesses are an abstract idea. If a patient finishes treatment, people assume it’s now all happiness. “How long does it take to be fixed?” Sometimes, a person can’t be “fixed,” but instead, endure. Even if friends or loved ones understand, it doesn’t make the situation any less arduous for everyone involved.

So, $6,000 and two weeks later, I left the program, no better than before and now lacked a reason to get out of bed.

Before I had my breakdown, I made lot of gaming purchases during manic periods; including, but not limited to, an Xbox One, Playstation 4, an Ouya, and a gaming PC.

Games like South Park: The Stick of Truth and Donkey Kong: Tropical Freeze sat untouched. Killzone: Shadow Fall and Infamous: Second Son still wrapped. I couldn’t force myself to play games, a pastime I had loved since childhood. I lay in the valley of depression, but now guilt from the manic peaks of frivolous spending and erratic social behavior began to set in.

I finally had a day where I could actually get up and decided to, at the very least, play a game. Maybe something could be a distraction and make the days shorter. So, at 11 a.m., I finally opened up Dark Souls 2. Ten hours later, I was still playing. That night, I didn’t sleep, but not because of Insomnia. I wanted to keep playing. I needed to keep playing. Death was frustrating, but I wanted to keep going. Each failure made me want to make it just a little further to see what was around the bend. Simple accomplishments felt major and while a gamer might feel prepared, something could always topple one’s confidence.

Those moments began relating to my mental illness. I’m not in a fantastical land where I tackle unimaginable monsters, instead, it’s creatures that are in my head.

Each day, I have to take small steps to overcome and get a little better. It’s never going to end, but I am a little more prepared each day. There’s always that chance emotions win, but I have to remember tomorrow is new.

Now, I’ve moved on to rogue-likes, such as Binding of Isaac, or my more recent obsession, Rogue Legacy. Playing these games make me feel like I’m coping in some way. I’m not happier or content, but more accepting. Relationships still lay broken, opportunities lost as well. Gaming isn’t a cure, nor a surrogate for actual medical help, but for myself, it gave a concrete and positive relation to my illness. My slow and plodding progress in the game is a somewhat more rapid mirror to my daily life. Each night I die, and start over the next day, only with the knowledge of preparation and understanding of what might lay ahead of me.

If you are suffering from depression, anxiety or other mental illness, get help. Search online for your local mental health center as most have phone lines open 24 hours. If you are contemplating suicide, don’t do it. Contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.