Gamer-At-Arms – Sex, Drugs & Dark Souls

Over the past few months, I’ve actually wondered if, for at least a week or so, I’ve been suffering from videogame addiction. It may seem like a very odd thing to say – because it is, really – but I want you to know that when I say it, I don’t mean to belittle the struggles against more documented addictions that a great many people face on a regular basis. Addiction can manifest itself in different people, and in different ways.

I’ll start by explaining that I got back into Dark Souls. You might remember that a while back Dark Souls and I had a bit of a falling out; some harsh words were said, and at the time I meant them. But I was wrong. I just didn’t understand. I just didn’t get it. But I get it now, and in a big way. Looking back, my main hurdle was merely that I didn’t understand how Dark Souls‘ Humanity system worked, or more specifically how it could be utilised to help me progress through the game.

It was only after about 40 hours of play – I got all the way to the infamous Ornstein & Smough – and almost an entire year’s subsequent respite from the game that I properly worked out how to manage Humanity. It probably would have been even longer if not for Sam White and Andi Hamilton. I noticed Sam tweeting about his slog through Dark Souls and so did Andi; the two very quickly became like Luke and Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back, and Dark Souls was their Dagobah.

Inspired, I picked up where I left off all those months ago. Maybe a week or two later, I had finished Dark Souls and had promptly joined the choir of people singing its praises across the internet. It truly is a phenomenal game worthy of every ounce of praise it gets. My prior beliefs about it were really nothing but a misunderstanding intensified by a point of frustration (that was later patched). Beating the game is like experiencing your first orgasm – a few fleeting seconds of overwhelming happiness that justify every preceding moment.

But who ever stops at just one? As such, I kept playing, but it wasn’t long before I noticed how relatively easy the game had become because of the intensive practice that saw me to the game’s climax. I quickly began to long for a greater challenge, even after downloading Artorias of the Abyss. Eventually, I decided to become a ‘Onebro’.

Beating the game is like experiencing your first orgasm – a few fleeting seconds of overwhelming happiness that justify every preceding moment.

A ‘Onebro’ is somebody who has beaten Dark Souls with a level 1 character; for many, including myself, it is the greatest and most concise challenge that a Dark Souls player can take on. I started my attempt around the 17th of March and soldiered through it near-tirelessly, until about ten days later on the 27th of March when I finally cracked it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it substantially easier than I’d imagined – this is little to do with the game’s difficulty however, it’s actually a very telling reflection of how much time and practice I’d poured into the game. And that’s really what worries me.

What I haven’t mentioned, but that some of you reading this may already know, is that throughout the entire duration of my attempt to become a Onebro I was, and still technically am, at University. I had coursework and exams to worry about, yet for those ten days I cared more about proving to myself and to the internet that I was really good at a videogame. I’m not one to shape my interests based on what somebody might call “sad” or something else similarly ignorant, but I can’t help but feel that my behaviour in this regard was indeed somewhat… unhealthy.

My responsibilities back then were not alien to me; I was as aware of them then as I am now, yet still I shrugged them off in favour of Dark Souls. My desire to kill every enemy I faced was only surpassed by my desire to defeat each boss that blocked my path, which in turn was surpassed only by my desire to beat the game. Each skirmish was soaked in adrenaline, and every victory was an ejaculation of testosterone; an intoxicating cocktail that one might quite easily become addicted to.

I honestly wonder if, for that short period of time, I was addicted to Dark Souls. I suspect that my only saving grace lay in the finality of the challenge; upon becoming a Onebro the urge to conquer was sated, and took me out of the game long enough that I regained focus on what was important. Perhaps this is a manner in which gaming addiction can manifest itself – as an all-consuming desire to overcome a specific challenge, fuelled by your own bodily chemicals. Perhaps for those ten days I was, without a shadow of a doubt, a videogame addict.