Mario has made me physically ill, and sonic has induced nausea (and not just the crappy Sonic games, which probably do that for everyone). These are not side-effects of too much gaming or motion sickness — they’re caused by an anxiety disorder, one that’s been a part of my life since late 2003.

Anxiety comes in a million different forms, with a million different symptoms, and there’s a million different cures. That’s one reason why it’s so hard to overcome — the exact causes for it are hard to pin down due to how much of it relies on each individual’s experiences; some people spend years with psychiatrists trying to figure out why it affects them. It’s a terrible thing to experience, and I sympathize with anyone who’s ever had to face it, regardless of its intensity.

I still don’t know the origins or continued existence of my own disorder, other then when it started and that I was always kind of shy as a kid. Other than that, I’m clueless as to what keeps its gears running. Might be social, might be peoples’ reliance on me, perhaps societal pressure — could be anything. Regardless of its cause, I know a lot of mainstream press and interest groups would like to blame it on one thing: videogames (and hey, if you’re playing games for more than 20 hours a week, you might want to slow down and go outside, regardless of the real effects of videogames on people). But in my case, games didn’t cause my anxiety — they helped rid me of it.

When I first played Halo 3 in 2007, I had a lot of fun — until I tried to go online and play with friends. Sure, I was in the safety of my own home (one of my anxiety “safe places/security blankets”), but I still felt sick to my stomach as I logged into Xbox Live; I could barely breathe by the time I got my friends into my lobby. “I’m not feeling too well guys, so I might not talk much,” was about all I could muster before feeling like I was going to pass out or throw up. It was a terrible feeling. However, as the night went on, and my mind was more occupied with plasma grenades and flag carrying than my anxiety problems, I managed to calm down, if ever so slowly. The next few log-ins over the weekend were tough, but it kept getting easier every time. Eventually, it became second nature, and not only did playing games online become easier, but my communication skills in general improved as well; even offline, I began to talk with people more often and there were far less instances of awkward silence when I did so.

I imagine if my anxiety disorder could take physical form, it’d look something like this.

I’ve been asked by several smaller sites, as well as larger ones like 1UP (or its then print publication, EGM), to write for them, and every single time I’ve had to turn them down. Why? Well, though I was in the comfort of my own home, just like with playing games online, every time I was about to say yes and start “writing about games for a living,” I start to feel sick. Really sick. Concerns and worries swirled around in my head as I tried to make up my mind, and as soon as the feelings of nausea and my radically-increased heart rate started to become too much to handle, I had tell these wonderfully generous people who wanted to give me amazing opportunities: “no.” I can’t tell you how much that hurt. I was not only letting myself down, but others as well. Luckily, most of them understood the situation I was in, and have been kind enough to keep doors open for me (specific thanks go out to Hsu of Bitmob and Sam from 1UP).

Of course, my anxiety is under control now, thanks to medication (I was lucky enough to find the right kind right off the bat, despite not knowing the exact cause for my disorder) so hopefully I’m not too far off from living that dream I’ve had to pass on so many times. And even though I haven’t done so professionally, writing about games has helped me work through my disorder; it’s given me a goal to strive for, helped me meet people who’ve gone through the same struggles I have (anyone with anxiety will tell you how lonely it feels at first), and even very special people who, thanks to their kind hearts and inspiring words, helped me take huge steps toward healing.

Videogames, and the wonderful people attached to them, saved my life; I still might not be able to leave my house if it weren’t for the combined influences of everything and everyone I’ve mentioned in this blog. We — the geeks, the gamers, the social outcasts, etc. — are  often labeled as shut-ins with no social lives,  no friends, no aspirations, and nothing to contribute to society. But let it be known that at least one person, who was beaten down by the society who labeled him those things, found comfort in videogames, friends in the gaming world, and opportunities in an industry that he owes far too much to.

It’s a little strange, actually: videogames, seen as a form of escapism, gave me less reason to escape from the real world than the real world ever did.