I sat on my step grandma’s living room couch watching my mum. She’s playing “You vs Wild”, a visual novel lite about adventures in the wild. It looked cliche and fake, but as my mum chose whether or not to climb an unstable rope or a slippery rock slide by clicking the buttons on the Roku remote I saw her eyes glowing.

She felt in control.

Her brain surgery last year made tasks like getting dressed beyond her physical and mental ability, so to see her feel power was inspiring even though the illusion of control was poor to me, my mum was immersed.

She fell asleep part way through but woke up to keep playing as though nothing happened, it was kinda sad, but my mum didn’t mind, in the prison of her week body, this game let her flourish. A face I hadn’t seen her wear in years. Growing up, my mum indulged in TV, so to see her playing a game and enjoying it was a victory to me. I remember being annoyed at the tens of thousands of hours she’d spend watching random shows. Getting older I learned TV and sleep were just distractions from her depression, and I soon grew a strong empathy for her feelings. Like her I would sleep away my negative feelings but rather than tv, I ended up growing fond of games.

My first Minecraft, then Portal, Overwatch,Titanfall 2, and especially Dark Souls 3. Dark Souls 3 and the souls-like genre are brutally difficult. Propelled by my ego or some kind of masochism I began. Perpetually throwing myself against the wall that is Dark Souls 3.

In this, though I found some sort of meaning that through this game I could exercise courage and overcome this game that somehow made me feel responsible to complete it.

Unlike reality, Dark Souls didn’t care how long I took to accomplish a goal.

Though Dark Souls masquerades as a melancholy and apathetic game, its glum grey world and harsh punishment for your imperfect performance.The other people playing the game left messages for me another giving advice and encouragement that subtle but powerful, kept me moving.