Finding joy in melancholy video games
How games with oppressive atmosphere help me feel at peace.
Oppressive, suffocating darkness. That’s what rose to greet me as I delved deeper into the Tomb of the Giant. Undeterred, I struck a torch in my left hand, sacrificing the comfort of my shield for a few feet of visibility. Silence covered the entire area like a blanket. The low *clink* of my armored footfalls provided slow cadence as I walked deeper into the yawning emptiness of the cave. Then, I crested a rock formation and saw a dim, orange glow in the distance. Intrigued, I walked a bit further, taking care to ensure I didn’t tumble into some unseen crevasse. Before and far below me I saw a vast flow of molten lava, it’s orange glow highlighting the shadows cast by the ruined buildings carved into the rocks above. Buildings I would later identify as the Demon Ruins.
Rather than progress further, I sat in the darkness of my gaming room and observed. The solitude, the darkness, the dim light, the melancholy. I felt a sense of familiarity, and in turn, I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. The entire world was harsh, unrelenting, and oppressive. Here, all was dark. Here, all was quiet. I was alone, and I was relieved. I stayed there for a half hour, absorbed in thought, until I went on my way.
That was my first experience with Dark Souls, and a perfect example of how, as an individual with depression and anxiety, I find comfort in situations of deep solitude and oppressive game design. Sounds weird, right? After all, you’d think someone constantly in a state of worry and sadness would want happy, colorful gaming experiences to lighten the mood. And I do value those; I’m a huge Nintendo fanboy. But for me, games like Dark Souls and others are deeply personal and meditative. Let me explain.
“The idea of finding a dark corner to ruminate in while the rest of the world swirls and churns chaotically was always incredibly appealing to me.”
I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression my entire life. Anxiety manifests in many ways for many people; for me, it’s the constant fear I’m sick with some mystery illness, and my inability to move past it is a direct contribution to my ongoing depression. Some days are better/worse than others of course, but such is the path the river of my life chooses to wind down. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt an odd sense of comfort in being alone. That doesn’t mean I’m a hermit or I don’t want anyone in my life; I don’t know what I’d do without my wife, son, or my friends who care and worry about me constantly. But the idea of finding a dark corner to ruminate in while the rest of the world swirls and churns chaotically was always incredibly appealing to me. And video games are the medium which allows me to be an active participant.
Growing up, one of my most formative gaming moments (aside from FFVI, obviously) was playing Super Metroid. Of course, Metroid is renowned for its feelings of solitude and isolation. There wasn’t a lot of alone time in my house growing up; I have two siblings, my mom working two jobs, and my loud, abusive father. I often wished I could become swallowed up in some quiet little pocket dimension where I could be alone. Super Metroid, then, was the first game I played that made me feel alone. I found something oddly calming about Samus’ trek through a desolate alien world fraught with hostility — having no one to count on but myself. It’s one major reason why I fired up another round immediately after killing Mother Brain.
“That feeling of being alone with your thoughts is increasingly difficult in this digital age of forums, social media, and constant connectivity.”
As I grew up and technology advanced, so too did games’ ability to convey immersive loneliness. Skyrim is a fantastic example. I have hundreds of hours logged in Skyrim. Not just because it’s a fun RPG, but because for me, there’s nothing like climbing to a high peak, particularly on a cloudy/stormy day, and simply standing, slowly panning the camera across the lonely horizon, listening to the sound of absolutely nothing. I probably spent as much time doing this as I did actually playing. Metroid Prime. Resident Evil. Hellblade. Dark Souls. Lone Survivor. All games with an oppressive environment and a crushing sense of melancholy and solitude. All games that are decidedly unhappy, stressful experiences. All games which are therapeutic to me. Because sometimes my anxious mind just needs to feel alone. And look, I’m not saying I shun people that care about me; quite the opposite. But I’m often in need of being isolated, and that feeling of being alone with your thoughts is increasingly difficult in this digital age of forums, social media, and constant connectivity. One more of the myriad reasons I, as someone who suffers from generalized anxiety and chronic depression, am so incredibly thankful for this wonderful medium and the experiences it allows us to have.
