When I was 20 years old, I was not doing well. Seemingly nothing in my life was going my way. I had dreamed of being a journalist my whole life, and I had come to the sudden realization that the plans I had made since I was 6 years old were not going to work. I loved to write, but the actual reporting elements of journalism were not compatible with me. I had an intense social anxiety that made me terrified to go up to random or important people and ask them questions about the topics I was writing about. I had felt this way even when I was in high school newspaper. This feeling also started extending to many other interactions in my life, which crushed my confidence even more.
For a long time, I told myself that one day, I would get over it. I’d get older and wiser. I’d become an adult, and adults can handle all these things I was having trouble with.
Well, reader, I did not get over it. It seemingly got worse and worse. Finally, one day, I started to feel paralyzed. Getting out of bed became one of the hardest things in the world to do, even if I had important things to do that day. Back then, I did not have a smartphone to distract myself with, but I’d still lay in bed awake in the morning for hours upon hours, unable to get up. When I was awake, even the simplest things in the world felt difficult. At one point, my mom sent me to school with a bag full of tootsie rolls along with some other goodies. My computer desk ended up completely covered with tootsie roll wrappers. It seems insane now to think about how easy it would have been to just pick those wrappers up and throw them out. A trash can was not far away. But I just… didn’t.
I had been to therapy at the behest of a friend and had medication for anxiety and depression, but I was not consistent at taking it. Eventually, I stopped going to my therapy appointments as well.
On the day of my 21st birthday, it was a normal day. I took a while to get out of bed. My friends planned on taking me out on the town to some bars, as one does. I was excited, and I still remember this being the rare day where I actually felt pretty good.
And then, something kind of crazy happened. At the first bar I went to that night, a friend of mine who was aware of my struggles showed up with a puppy. I was absolutely confused and flabbergasted. I had talked about how when I was out of school, I wanted a dog, but I certainly didn’t feel ready in any way, shape, or form to have one. Especially a completely unexpected one. From there came a hilarious sequence of events where I asked my neighbors to puppysit a BRAND NEW PUPPY for a few hours while I finished my bar crawl. After like two bars, I was back home without even a buzz. It was time to be a dog dad.
That night, I cuddled my dog in bed (who I decided to name Chester after brainstorming with my friends on our very abbreviated bar crawl) and fell asleep with him in my arms.
Like any puppy, and especially a beagle, Chester had a lot of energy. And I mean A LOT. All of a sudden, I had a dog whining at me at 630-7am most mornings demanding food and then attention. My routine of staying in bed for hours each morning was now shattered. I needed to be up and at ’em nice and early to take care of Chester. My routine of only taking walks at night and brooding was also now done. I needed to walk Chester a few times a day (sometimes for hours) in order to get all of his energy out. The simple act of getting out of bed and going for multiple walks a day in the sun at least had me feeling more human again, and maybe even a little happy sometimes.
My depression had me putting off getting a job. With Chester now in my life, I felt compelled to make getting one a priority so that I could take care of him. Even the crappy minimum wage job I ended up with at least put some money in my bank account, and allowed me to buy Chester’s food myself instead of relying on the occasional money my parents would give me.
Doing these things was like a domino effect for me. My life wasn’t all better, but just being able to get up and now making money again motivated me to renew my medication for the first time in months. I cared about getting better in a way that I hadn’t for a long time.
As tough as my life had been in those dark times, I was fortunate to have some good friends who got me out of my room regularly. One of the other main things I had that kept the demons at bay at times was video games. On some difficult nights and days, a good video game could at least help me escape and get my mind on something beyond all my stresses and sadness. But while video games could get me to the next day, they couldn’t fix the things that ailed me. And at times, they may have been counterproductive for me, as I do think “touching grass” is a legitimately good thing for every person, and video games usually keep you locked away in dark rooms
I think there are many positive aspects of video games, of course. They are one of my favorite things in the entire world. And on a day that some of my anxiety creeps in, it’s a great way to get me through that night and focus my energy on something more positive. But video games were never going to get me out of the hole I was in. Video games can, at times, patch up a ship that has some holes in it, but they are never going to prevent a ship from sinking when the damage is great enough.
The best ways to tackle mental health issues are firstly with professionals. Seeing a therapist helped me identify why I felt the way that I did, which helped me to address these things. I also think exercise and some elements of human interaction are important. As much as talking to random strangers can be uncomfortable, seeing people light up at Chester whenever I walked him would boost my spirits and even give me a strange sort of confidence. I knew what it felt like to be a proud father far before I actually became one over a decade later.
I often see people tout that a video game “saved their life” or helped them in some way. The human mind is a strange and unpredictable thing. I can see how connecting with a piece of art can help someone feel like they aren’t alone. I also know from experience how games can at times connect you with others and even start meaningful relationships. I do think there are certain instances where a video game could indirectly take someone on a journey to a better place when it comes to mental health.
But often, I think video games can hurt as much as they can help. In the end, the most important path to healing is finding help, and video games have the potential to be incredibly isolating. While I don’t think everyone that is depressed needs to get a dog, I do think that anyone who is feeling this way needs to find a way to inspire themselves to take that important step of getting better. For me, a dog helped me literally take thousands of steps that got me onto a path of healing.
Now, as I write this blog, Chester turns 15 years old today. It is insane to look at him and think of the journey we have been on together. Since I got Chester, I got married, got my first apartment, got my first home, got my second home, and now have a child. If I never got him, I truly have no idea where I would have ended up. I am so happy that he came into my life and that I’ve been able to help give him the long and fulfilling life he deserves.
Happy birthday, Chester. You are truly the most special dog on the world to me, and I’ll never be able to repay all that you have done for me.
Big Nerd Gaming 
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