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Confessions of a Hopeless Addict

I recently visited a psychiatrist, Dr. Evard Polsai-Junglund, to help me resolve some issues that have inhibited my daily life since I was a kid. Normally, I’m very skeptical of doctors of all types, but I knew I needed help, so I gave it a shot. The session was the best thing I’ve done in years. For the first time, I was able to openly discuss my problem with someone. I’ve tried to hide it for so many years, but I realize that the time to hide is over. I must proudly stand and say, “Yes, I am an addict. Yes, it is a problem. Yes, I need help.”

Session transcript:

Dr: So I hear you’ve been having trouble sleeping, is that right?
Andy: Yes, a little, I guess. Only when I’m at home.
Dr: Do you have problems at home?
Andy: Well, not really problems. I guess when I’m at home I tend to give in to my addiction more.
Dr: I see. So this “addiction” you mentioned, does it keep you from sleeping well?
Andy: Yes.
Dr: Give me a brief history of this addiction.
Andy: Okay. When I was twelve, my Dad bought us an Apple Macintosh. I had used Macs at school often, so I was sort of the family expert.
Dr: I see, and did that cause tension?
Andy: Tension?
Dr: Between you and your family members.
Andy: I thought you wanted to know the history of my addiction.
Dr: Of course, please continue.
Andy: At first I was happy just to have a home computer. I played around a lot with the paint program, text editors, little things like that. Everyone in my family enjoyed the novelty of owning a computer.
Dr: So this began to conflict with your self-perceived notions of technical superiority?
Andy: What the heck are you talking about? Will you just let me talk for one second?
Dr. Yes, as you were saying?
Andy: After a month or so, I bought my first game: Star Wars: Rebel Assault. It wasn’t that great of a game, but I played it and played it until I memorized every scrap of dialog and could close my eyes and picture the rocky surface of every asteroid. Even my brother got hooked.
Dr: Most unusual.
Andy: That’s nothing, yet. I soon bought all of the LucasArts games I could save up for: Day of the Tentacle, Dark Forces, the Dig, X-Wing, TIE Fighter and a dozen others. I pulled weeds in our backyard for my Dad for months for two dollars an hour until I could buy those games. I needed them . . . I had to have them.
Dr: Pitiful. What happened next?
Andy: One day . . . one, very fateful day . . . I bought a copy of Bungie Software’s Marathon.
Dr: Dear God!
Andy: I know, I know . . . I should have stayed away. I should have said no, but the box . . . it was blue, and it had a cool design . . . the logo . . . so pretty.
Dr: Moses, save us!
Andy: I played it until my eyes burned . . . and at times it felt so wrong. . . I knew that I was fighting vicious aliens, I knew I was a good guy, but . . . all that death. And then I saw one of the human crewmembers, a BOB (born-on-board) die . . .An innocent guy.
Dr: The trauma you have suffered is severe.
Andy: I wanted to return the game to the computer store. I wanted to stop, but it was so much fun. In a few days I was completely desensitized. . . and it was . . . pretty.
Dr: You sick, sick—
Andy: I beat the game, and I bought Marathon 2: Durandal and Marathon: Infinity. With Infinity, I was able to create my own maps, create my own weapons, enemies.
Dr: Infinity, a suitable name.
Andy: I began to push away the outside world . . . when I was at school, I drew pictures of aliens from the games . . . I drew schematics for maps . . . I subscribed to MacAddict magazine. But then one day our Mac died, and I felt like . . . I felt like I had lost a brother, or a good friend.
Dr: I can see how that must have hurt you.
Andy: Doctor, I . . . I can’t explain . . . I . . .
Dr: Stop crying, right now. Seriously.
Andy: My parents bought a PC . . . the enemy . . . the bad . . . . evil . . . Bill Gates . . . I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, since PCs have more games.
Dr: I’m beginning to understand how your mind works.
Andy: What?
Dr: You’re a regular textbook case 11827-AR14
Andy: I see. Um, thanks. Anyway, in a few months I was so used to our PC that I hardly thought about our old Mac anymore. Just like when you have a pet frog that dies and you get a new one. A few years passed, and I was finally recovering. But then I stumbled onto the Bungie website and saw a few Marathon screenshots. Suddenly all my Marathon memories rushed back . . . Smells Like Napalm, Tastes Like Chicken! G4 Sunbathing! Ingue Ferroque! Colony Ship for Sale, Cheap! BOB-B-Q! Blaspheme Quarantine! Reverof Nohtaram! Tycho! Leela! Durandal! See ya starside! They’re everywhere! . . . I couldn’t stop the memories . . . I had to experience it all again, or I knew I would die.
Dr: Frightening.
Andy: I looked all over the internet for a couple of months for used Macs, and I bought a Power Mac 5500/225 for $80, as well as a copy of the Marathon trilogy. The . . . addiction began again. Now I try to hide it, keep it in my closet, only play at night . . . I mean, what would people think of me if they knew I loved playing FPS from the mid-90’s on a Mac? I have DOOM 3, Far Cry, UT 2004, the latest and best for PC . . . but I keep coming back to Marathon. I . . . use those PC games to hide my true love.
Dr: Do you have a girlfriend? Any girl you’re close to?
Andy: Um, why should that matter? I mean, no, I don’t, not right now I mean, but I really don’t see how that's relevent . . .
Dr: Ah, I guessed as much.

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