Tag: depression

Every Day Is A Challenge

Posted on by in Real Life

Mental health is an infinitely complex thing. With a variety of conditions that can affect someone and no-one’s experience being the same, it’s no wonder that so much about it remains a complete mystery to most of the population. What I talk about on this site and during any podcast episodes that I record, is a droplet in the ocean of what there is to know and understand within the scope of mental health conditions and their impact on an individual. Something that I don’t think people realise when mental health conditions are discussed, is how they interact with one another. These conditions often come in groups, much like the unwanted +1 you didn’t realise your friend had dragged along to your party.

Between anxiety, depression and PTS, a bad mental health day for me can vary dramatically depending on which condition has decided to kick down the door and make my life a misery. The PTS can raise my anxiety levels, which leads to me cancelling plans, which results in a healthy dose of self-loathing for letting others down. It’s a negative feedback loop and it sucks, to be completely honest. However, I can’t avoid every potential trigger that could begin the loop again, otherwise I’d never be able to live my life. There are a variety of factors that can lead you to a bad day and often it’s simply a minor inconvenience that sets it all in motion once again.

I’m aware that the root of my problems is mostly to do with my own self-esteem and self-image, something that goes back to my childhood. However, it was only around the time I started this site that I recognised the core of my issues, and I was surprised to recognise that it wasn’t my social anxiety. When I started university, my anxiety attacks were at a point where I sought out medical assistance to help quell them, since I could barely leave the flat for an event without the need to vomit profusely afterwards (and not for the usual alcohol related reasons you’d expect of a university student!). Yet once I was on anti-anxiety medication, I stopped having panic attacks and instead fell into a deep depression, functioning only out of necessity. I’d treated a symptom, not the cause.

The last three weeks have been odd for me. Those that follow my YouTube would have read the description of my most recent video and would know that I’ve been in a depressive slump recently, but that slump has transitioned into a more bizarre phenomenon. I’ve spoken about dissociation on the site before, the out of body experiences and sensations that my actions aren’t entirely my own to control, but this feels… more than that. I feel disconnected from myself almost entirely, like I’ve become an actor in a play, going through the motions and acting out what the audience expects to see. I do my work, both from home and onsite, I play D&D with the gang and enjoy myself, I play and cuddle with the cats and I study the required material for my master’s degree. To an outside observer, I seem perfectly fine. Heck, to those close to me, it still looks normal. However, something about it feels off to those who would look more closely.

The best metaphor for it that I can think of would be if you went to an art gallery to see a famous painting, but someone had switched the original for a near perfect replica without letting anyone know. Sure, those keener on the artist’s work may notice something amiss or just have an inkling of confusion, but unless it was pointed out, chances are nobody would notice for a long time. I feel like that replica. Like someone had walked off with the original Caitlin and left me in place, forcing me to smile and converse with Caitlin’s family and friends, referencing conversations that I wasn’t a part of and events that are mere facts to me rather than the emotional milestones they supposedly were for others.

Theatre has always been a big part of my life, especially the backstage roles that go into a production. Show week is a fascinatingly complex thing, with dozens of moving parts mixing to make a show run smoothly. Knowing the cues, lighting changes, sound effects and props needed for every scene becomes almost instinctual as the week goes on. This dissociation feels like that. It feels like we’re on the third show of the week, having moved beyond opening night jitters and the first few live mistakes that you must compensate for. Everyone knows what they are supposed to be doing and it becomes another piece of choreography that every member of the company can perform flawlessly. Although perfect in the moment, in that specific scenario, to carry it over to the rest of the world and your daily life, it becomes paralysing in a way that you wouldn’t comprehend from the outside.

You know how they say some animals can sense things coming before we can? Like how cows sit down before the rain or how dogs can be trained to sense when a seizure is approaching, or someone’s blood sugar is dangerously low. I don’t know how common it is but some folks, me included, can sense when a panic attack is approaching or when a depressive episode will strike. Part of my experience with predicting these changes comes from my sensitivity to the world around me. I am hyperaware of changes around me, be that noise, visuals, or scents. On my more audio sensitive days, I can make out a dozen different conversations going on around me. I guess it means nobody can sneak up on me but it’s a bloody nightmare for my anxiety levels. I can predict when the days where it takes hours to claw myself out of bed are and know what level of physical contact I can tolerate during a particularly bad timeframe.

Part of me wants to remain in this state for the foreseeable future, something that the rest of me is too terrified to even consider. In this state I am productive, I am functional, I’m still socialising and interacting with those around me. It’s like looking in a slightly distorted mirror of what I am like on my good days, an almost perfect reflection that sets the alarm bells ringing in the back of your mind. I know that when this performance ends, I will have several very dark days. That fact is as certain to me as the rotation of the earth and the endless motion of the tides. It’s a foreboding feeling, to be staring darkness in the face as it barrels towards you, with only a wall of glass between you and the danger. Yet, I have to take down that wall or I will never be who I am, who I could be, who I want to be.

Life is hard. It requires surviving the bad days and thriving during the good ones. It’s terrifyingly isolating and a battle that you will never truly win – you merely survive from skirmish to skirmish until you are ready to meet defeat with open arms. It’s hard, back breaking work that you get no real reward for, no grand prize other than more time on the earth. Every second counts and sometimes you have to spend a month clawing your way out of the pit of despair to get an hour of joy. Yet, if you can forgive yourself when you fail, can pick yourself up when you fall down, and are willing to accept the smallest victories as a triumph over that lurking darkness, then it will all be worth it.

Still here,

CaitlinRC.

What Remains of Edith Finch – Falling From The Family Tree:

Posted on by in Gaming

For those of you who have been with MindGames since the beginning, you might remember that shortly after starting the site, I wrote an article for CheckPoint about one of my favorite games of all time – What Remains Of Edith Finch. Whilst clearing out some space on my hard drive, I came across the draft copy of that article and decided, you know what, I’m going to put it up here (with some additions) for you all to enjoy. It’s a game that’s worth revisiting with masterful storytelling and the strongest depiction of the consuming nature of some mental health conditions that I’ve seen in the gaming scene. Plus, it’s on GamePass so… free emotional experiences for you to try?

-.-.-.-

Throughout the history of humans, the concept of family has always been the central part of our lives. From autobiographies to twitter threads, we like to share tales from our lives with those we care about, be it close friends and family or just the internet in general. Video games take this concept and run with it, building extravagant worlds and telling fantastical stories that boggle the mind. A lot of these stories have deeper meanings beneath the surface that you don’t always see, but there is almost always a sense of family in them, be it your blood relations or your crew members. It is my belief, that games that take a step back and think about the nature of human relationships are ones that will leave their mark on our hearts.

One such game is What Remains of Edith Finch. Released to the major systems in 2017, this adventure game received high praise from critics, players and reviewers alike who all praised its storytelling, presentation and commonly use it as an example to prove that video games are an art form. As a gamer who has a fondness for story-driven games, I was immediately intrigued and decided to take a weekend to just sit and immerse myself in the game. By the end of the game, I was sobbing at this masterpiece of an experience.

To give you some context, the game follows the character Edith Finch who has returned to her old family home after the death of her mother. Right away, many players can relate to how Edith feels – how it feels wrong to be there without her mother, how everything is familiar yet strange. When I lost my grandfather, we went to his flat to collect some mementoes to remember him by. If you read my Unpacking article, you’d know a bit more about what I took from that place and the memories that I associate with them. Yet, when walked through those doors and it was just… off. Everything seemed too quiet without him. I noticed tiny details that were wrong in my memories of him such as the plants not being watered and the tea bags being left in the cup for too long. It was his place, yet not. Much like Edith’s family home.

As you explore the uniquely constructed Finch home, you go from room to room piecing together Edith’s family tree. Various flashbacks and playable sequences have you experiencing the passing of each of her family members, from flying off the edge of a cliff to being poisoned by holly berries. Each tale gives you an insight into what person was like, from their stubbornness to their struggle with mental health. Although this is a game about loss, how Edith speaks of her family is truly uplifting. Each one of them is so unique and had such a profound impact on her upbringing, you can feel the pure love in her voice as she talks about them.

Now, I could dedicate an article to each and every one of Edith’s family members and their stories. From the crushing impact of losing little Gregory on his parent’s marriage, to the survivor’s guilt and traumatic memories of his sister Barbara’s murder that drove Walter to live underground for decades; there is so much to unpack here. All these deaths lead people, including some of the family members, to believe that the Finch family is cursed to perish in unfortunate circumstances. To grow up, surrounded by death and the specters of those you love, has ripple effects on the environment around the young ones, like Edith and especially, Edith’s mother Dawn.

Who I want to talk about, however, is Lewis, one of Edith’s brothers. The game hints at the two being close, with him playing video games with his little sister, showing her secret passages in the house and being everything, you’d want in a big brother. However, after a battle with substance abuse and having to go through rehab, he began to struggle with his mental health. His boring daytime job at a cannery was slowly wearing him down and so, he imagined a fantasy world – where he achieved great things. It began to consume him, to the point where he’d not speak to anyone for weeks, causing his family and therapist to worry. Eventually, the real Lewis became a hated figure in his mind, and he longed for the fantasy to come true. This culminated in him committing suicide and in Dawn and Edith leaving the family home for good, in an attempt for Dawn to protect herself and her last remaining child from meeting a terrible fate.

Out of the entire game, this story was the one that hit me the closest to home. Many people struggling with mental health conditions often feel like Lewis. The depression, the apathy, the feeling that the life you live has no point to it. We lose so many amazing people who become stuck in ruts as Lewis did, who suffer in silence and retreat into their minds to escape from its monotony. However, our minds can often be our worse enemies and in Lewis’s case, it provided him with an escape that eventually killed him. Lewis lost his sense of self, falling into a spiral of self-loathing and hatred that he sadly, couldn’t escape from.

The pain in Edith’s voice as she talks about her brother is clear. She feels powerless, guilty and the grief is still as fresh as it was when she first heard the news. The loss of a loved one will always hurt, as the hole they leave behind in the world will constantly remind you. However, the idea of someone you love, suffering in silence and deciding that death is the only option left to them, is a heart-wrenching thought. You rethink every interaction with them, overthink every word you’ve ever spoken to them and wonder what you could’ve done better.

The game is told from Edith’s perspective but when you think about how those emotions must be amplified tenfold for Dawn. Once I’d heard all of the Finch family’s stories and looked at the finished family tree, I realised just how much Dawn has lost. The loss of her baby brother, the divorce of her parents, the lingering guilt and grief after finding her other brother dead, witnessing her father die, then losing two children – one to mental health struggles that she felt powerless against and the other whose fate she never had confirmed, it’s no wonder she’s desperate to protect Edith. It makes the line you hear her shout as she argues with great grandma Edie, so much more powerful:

“My children are dead because of your stories!”

Our family can be our greatest support in times of need. They can save us from the darkness, pull us up and remind us that we are loved, we are worthy, and we are capable of so much more than our minds allow us to think. However, if we are deprived of that support, we can feel isolated and worthless, and in the worst cases, we could follow in Lewis’s footsteps. So, be there for those you love. Whether it’s your sibling suffering from depression or a cousin struggling with OCD, be by their side through it all. Appreciate your family, whether it’s the one given to you by blood or whether it’s one you choose. You don’t know how long you’ll have them with you for, so make the most of every minute. Make sure they feel as loved as they make you feel. Sometimes, just knowing someone has your back can make all the difference in the world.

Be kind to one another,

CaitlinRC.

Celeste – Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

Posted on by in Gaming

I’m always wary of games that try to personify mental illness or negative thoughts. The idea of putting a face or a name to this… other part of me, this darker part of me, instinctively makes me recoil. Not in disgust or hatred, but in deep-rooted fear. Society as a whole has been gradually improving when it comes to tolerance and acceptance of mental health conditions such as depression and anxiety, but we are still so far from truly understanding what it is like for each individual that suffers from them. Heck, I barely understand my own conditions and it’s been over a decade. Plus, considering some of the more toxic representations of mental health that use it as an excuse for cruel actions, I tend to walk into games that claim to be better with a bit of a chip on my shoulder.

When I was in primary school, I learnt a life lesson that I still carry with me to this day. Though in hindsight, it’s not always the best idea. When a feeling is uncomfortable or debilitating, such as nausea when you are unwell, to focus on it is to give it more control over you. I’ve carried this idea over to my daily battles with my mental health conditions, not allowing an anxiety attack or depression dip to consume me and ruin whatever I had going on at the time. However, there is a fine line to walk between not overly focusing on something and refusing to acknowledge it at all. Coping mechanisms and suppression do not go hand in hand as anyone who’s hit their breaking point will be well aware of. Exploring that balance is something that the game Celeste does well.

I’m never going on a ski lift. NEVER.

If you listened to my panel for EGX Digital back in 2020, you’d know that the game Celeste was thoroughly recommended by the panel members. Despite this, I only actually got around to playing the game for myself a few months ago after an extremely long day at work. Putting aside the several moments of overwhelming rage that I experienced whilst playing through the game (LOOKING AT YOU B SIDE), Celeste is a platformer with a tale to tell, driven around a central goal of reaching the summit of Celeste Mountain.

An average Tuesday.

You play as Madeline, a young woman from Canada who suffers from anxiety and depression. For unknown reasons, she has travelled to Celeste Mountain with the goal of reaching the summit to prove to herself that she can. Given how insanely dangerous the mountain can be to those not prepared for it, her family and those she encounters on her way are understandably concerned about her wellbeing. Considering the very first bridge collapses and she’s only saved by a dash ability taught to her by a random bird perched nearby, the stakes are pretty high. Shortly after meeting Theo (a lovely guy who is an influencer and takes terrible selfies of Madeline), you come across a mysterious mirror in the ruins that summons a “evil” clone of Madeline, called Part Of Me (or Badeline to the community).

To Madeline, this clone seems to be the embodiment of everything wrong with her – her selfishness, her anger, her self-loathing. If I’m honest, that’s how I viewed my “dark side” to begin with. When you have such a dark cloud hanging over your every action, you’re desperate to separate it from you, to treat it as an entity that has no ties to you. Madeline initially believes that she would be better off without her and seeks for a way to destroy Part Of You entirely. It’s a sentiment that I think anyone with a condition like anxiety or depression has pondered in their lifetime. Yet, like Madeline, we have to realise that this darkness, this negativity, is as much a part of us as the fingers on our hands are.

Please ma’am, get back inside the text box.

More than anything, Celeste is a powerful metaphor for self-discovery. Regardless of whether you’re coming to terms with a loss, facing up to your inner demons or gaining the courage to come out to those you love, Celeste emphasizes the imperfect nature of humanity. We stumble, we make mistakes, we are stubborn and desperate for a future that is always slightly out of reach. Yet, we get back up. Sure, Madeline falls down the mountain, further than she had ever fallen before but she gets back up. Even in the darkest of pits, there is always a distant light to climb towards. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Considering how many times I died in Celeste (cough, 3298), this determination can take us far. That’s the thing about mountains, when you’re stood at the bottom, they seem so insurmountable, too large a challenge for you to even hope to complete. Yet with each checkpoint and each rung of the ladder than you step onto, you get that bit closer.

As much as I detest my brain with it’s lack of serotonin and tendency to catastrophize literally everything (for example, the other day when I left the house to go to work, my brain went “did you leave the gas on, are your cats in danger because of it”. I have no gas line connected to my flat. WHAT EVEN BRAIN.), I have to admit that it has made me a better person. I work harder, study more and empathize better with those around me, desperate to put some of that light into the world that I struggle to find on my darkest days. I wouldn’t be CaitlinRC, creator of MindGames / Dice and Suffering, community member and proud non-binary asexual without the conditions and life events that have brought me to this point. Sure, there was a lot I would do differently if I’d had the benefit of hindsight but at this point in time, I’m ok. Sometimes, ok is the best you can hope for.

Sometimes a mountain doesn’t have a summit. Sometimes, you’ll be climbing for the rest of your life. I know that I will be living with my depression and anxiety for the rest of my life. Sure, therapy and medication have helped make the day-to-day existence more bearable and the PTS dreams have lessened over time, but there’s no “cure” for this. We need to accept that’s ok, that it’s fine to not have a cure, a quick fix for everything. Sure, I fell down the mountain a good way over the last few months. However, as long as I shake myself off, brush myself down and keep climbing, then eventually I’ll reach a point that I’m content with. After all, those who climb Everest don’t all strive to reach the summit. Some are happy with reaching the base camp.

Everything looks better from the top.

Anyways, that’s all I have for you this week. It’s been a while since I’ve written one of these so I’m pacing myself to avoid smashing face first into the writer’s block brick wall that I’ve been smushed against for all these months. Be sure to check out the podcast series, launched as Dice and Suffering – where my D&D campaign and the brand new Blades In The Dark series is being published.

You’re doing your best, that’s all that matters.

CaitlinRC

…

Posted on by in Real Life

Hi.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Not sure why I write questions like that in my posts, it’s not like any of you are stood behind me, ready to respond immediately. If you were, that’d be a tad unnerving, especially since I am sat at my desk in my supposedly empty house. My cats make enough noise that I often wonder if I’m being robbed but even they wouldn’t lurk behind me and answer my rhetorical questions. Wait no, they probably would. Either that, or the burglars have taken an interest in my writing.

Weird thoughts aside, I wanted to talk to you all. I know I don’t need to explain why I’ve not written articles in a while – after all, this site is my choice, my side project, not a contracted position or legal requirement. I shouldn’t feel I have to justify my choices in only posting my Dungeons and Dragons campaign, instead of the mental health focused vision that I began MindGames with. Yet, here I am, trying to explain thought processes and decisions that I barely understand myself.

These last 18 months have been insane for us all, regardless of where you live. It’s insane to me to think that shortly before this all began, I was celebrating the end of my theatre show, a production of Harold Pinter’s “The Hothouse”. Over the course of lockdown, I wrote a dissertation, sat my final exams, graduated from university, moved out on my own, started a new job, adopted two cats and now I’m looking at finding a more permanent flat to live in for the next decade or so. A great deal has changed. None of us are the same people we were at the start of all this. Heck, none of us are the same person as the one that woke up this morning.

Despite this, my feelings towards this site, this community, the core ideals that I built MindGames around – they have not changed. The work that I’ve done is but a drop in the vast ocean of content that exists out there on the internet. We make the occasional ripple on the surface of that ocean. We are too small to make tidal waves. We struggle to fight against the current that threatens to drag us down. Mental health is tricky. It’s incredibly personal, a silent war fought on fronts that we forget exist. What seems like a raindrop to you, could be a tsunami to me.

It doesn’t feel like I do enough. Logically, I’ve accepted that nothing I do will feel enough to me, as I’ve set the boundary so high that nothing can reach it. I feel like I should be doing so much more with my platform, small as it may be. I have a thousand and one ideas but the fear that grips me whenever I consider putting those ideas to paper is impalpable. In the whirlwind of my life, there are two constant lights that I cling to. The love I hold for my cats and the joy that I experience every week with the Dungeons and Junkiez gang. Tuesday nights have become something that gets me through the darker mental states. Recently, all I’ve felt capable of doing outside of work commitments, has been playing and planning Dungeons and Dragons.

I have over a dozen unfinished articles sitting on my hard drive at the moment – Hades, Among Us, Prison Architect, the list goes on. Games that I’ve played that have stuck with me, made me laugh, made me rage, given me calm when little else could. Yet none of them feel worthy of MindGames. The words I use feel… lackluster. It’s strange. Every writer frets over their work. I doubt there’s a writer on the face of the planet who hasn’t second guessed their work at some point or another. Redrafts of novels, rewriting of entire episodes in tv shows, tweaking key lines in poignant movie moments – it’s all a part of the process.

Yet it’s not that I feel I need to rewrite every single article, more that by completing them, I’d be entering into a contract with myself that would demand their publication. It’s a common occurrence for me, less about how other’s will react and more about how it will gnaw into my state of mind. There’s a unfinished novel in my files, several drafts of fantasy stories that I never sought to have published, videos that I never made, thoughts I’ve never been brave enough to speak aloud. Too many thoughts.

Every time I have sat down to write recently, it’s just… not happened. It’s become a staring contest with my laptop that I could never win. There is no doubt that I want to keep building up MindGames until I can make a solid impact on the world and help people, but I think deep down I’m terrified of failure. Of failing all of you. Of failing myself. Of failing the memory of those that I’ve lost to the black dog that stalks our thoughts.

I will be back. Not regularly, at least not for a while. D&D will keep coming. Articles will return. I just… needed to get this out there. Communication is important after all – especially with yourself.

Caitlin.

GRIS – So Beautiful It Should Be Illegal:

Posted on by in Gaming

So, a few days ago, I had hit a bit of a writer’s block. I wasn’t sure what game I wanted to talk about, so I reached out on Twitter to you guys (@OurMindGames) for any suggestions. Out of the many awesome suggestions I got from you guys, one really grabbed my attention. It was a game called GRIS, an artistic platformer that had been on my radar for a little while. People have spoken very highly of its visuals, soundtrack and powerful message – so needless to say, it seemed right up my alley. As I’m currently prepping to go back to university for my final year, I have some free time on my hands, so I decided to dedicate an afternoon to trying out GRIS. That afternoon quickly morphed into the rest of the day, until around 9 PM that evening when the credits rolled, and I sat back in my chair – stunned into silence.

The story of GRIS isn’t clearly laid out to the player. It’s told through imagery, visualization, and symbolism that will leave you pondering it’s meaning hours after you put it down. At its core, it’s a puzzle platformer. The further you progress through the game, the more abilities you unlock, which allows you to progress to new areas. It’s a fairly linear experience so you don’t worry too much about getting lost, however, the game does encourage you to explore each area to its fullest – with the key to moving on often being tucked away in a hidden cave or up a series of complex jumps. It’s a game that rewards you for taking your time and looking around, which as a completionist is a very satisfying experience.

This is your protagonist. Though you could argue, you are the real protagonist.

When the game starts, you see a young girl lying in the hand of a statue – seemingly asleep. She awakes and begins to sing, gradually rising into the air when suddenly her voice just stops. Without her voice, the statue crumbles and you are powerless to watch as she plummets to the ground, a seemingly desolate place devoid of the beautiful colours of the sky above. To start with, she can barely walk without crumpling to the ground, gradually regaining her strength and abilities as the game goes on. You collect tiny stars that form little constellations, allowing you to cross gaps and restore colour to the world around you. Each colour you restore opens another section – e.g. unlocking blue restores water to the world, enabling underwater exploration.

Honestly, you could fill an art museum with screenshots of this game, and nobody would question it, as this game is visually stunning. The artists behind this game manage to make even the simplest of colour schemes and landscapes beautiful. When you combine that with the haunting soundtrack, this game is best experienced in a room by yourself, on a big screen. I played it on my switch but honestly, it deserves a fully equipped cinema with surround sound and a ginormous screen to truly appreciate every titbit of detail and love that has gone into crafting this game. The game itself is not very long, it took me about 4 hours on and off to finish a playthrough, including a twenty-minute puzzle section that I was just too dumb to realize the simple solution to.

How is possible to be this gorgeous a game, I’m just saying!

What I really want to talk about though, is what I feel the story behind this game is. As there are only a few little cutscenes and the closest we get to any exposition from the character herself is through song, it’s mostly about how you choose to interpret it. The achievements list gives you a hint towards the game’s true meaning – specifically those related to each “Stage” or chapter of the game. I didn’t notice this until the final chapter when I popped an achievement called “Stage 5 – Acceptance”. This achievement and its counterparts all refer to stages from the Kubler-Ross model, which talks about the five stages we go through when we are grieving. Let me explain each stage and its corresponding achievement in GRIS:

Stage 1: Denial – Often our first reaction is to deny that anything is wrong as if pretending it doesn’t exist will reduce the pain later. In the first chapter of GRIS, you start out barely able to walk – collapsing to your knees frequently and struggling to stand up again. Most players will get GRIS to stand back up, but if you leave the controller and let her stand up again on her own – this stage of the model will be fulfilled, as she herself denies that anything is wrong.

Devoid of colour and life, the world seems to be crumbling around you.

Stage 2: Anger – When we are upset, often we internalize that pain and instead lash out at others. When you are hurting, sometimes you feel like that nobody understands the pain you are in and that the only way to lessen the pain you are in is to inflict it upon others. During the second chapter of GRIS, you gain the “heavy” ability which allows you to smash through unstable objects and destroy various statues/pots scattered around the world. This ability is a clear manifestation of that second stage of grief, which the achievement emphasizes as when you destroy three specific statues, you get the “anger” popup.

When the world tries to knock you down, keep pushing on through.

Stage 3: Bargaining – “Don’t you think after all this time, and everything I have ever done, that I am owed this one?” – The Doctor in the Snowmen, Season 7 of Doctor Who. This quote sums up the bargaining stage of grief for me. We feel that we are owed something, that we deserve better than our current situation presents. That maybe, just maybe, the world will take pity on us and provide that little bit of hope. We beg for it, trying to barter with chips that have no real worth anymore, even though we know deep down that it won’t work. In GRIS’s case, this is seen when you come across a statue in the forest chapter. Her first reaction to it when you try to interact is to sing to it, despite her voice still being gone. She is trying to barter with something that isn’t there anymore.

If you don’t learn to accept things, it’ll weigh you down forever.

Stage 4: Depression – I think the use of the underwater section for this stage is remarkably clever. Often, we describe depression as sinking under the waves, falling further and further from the light that we so desperately try to cling to. In my case, it often feels like a heavyweight is attached to my ankle, slowly tugging me downwards no matter how hard I resist it.  In order to get this achievement in GRIS, you must seek out the statue hidden in the darkness. This section is pitch black and finding this hidden cavern is not easy, as its surroundings are full of creeping darkness that threatens to consume you. That statue is of a woman, seemingly sinking down into the inky depths, like how you fell from the sky at the beginning of the game.

We all sink into the darkness sometimes. We just need to keep pushing back to the light.

Stage 5: Acceptance – After retrieving your voice and escaping the shrouding darkness, you come across a tomb on the remains of the land. In this tomb is a statue, lying down, still and quiet. If you sing to it, the acceptance achievement pops. Although it doesn’t seem like much at the time, to me it reminds me of the songs you sing at funerals. In those moments, you can hear the whirling mix of emotions in everyone’s voices – grief, joy, longing and hope all mingling together as one. It’s a haunting yet powerful experience to be a part of, whether they were your close family, a good friend or just an acquaintance.

To me, this game is a tale of grief and loss. Now, this is just my interpretation, but I think that our young protagonist has just lost her mother. To me, the start of the game seems to be the moment that the loss truly hits her and her whole world crumbles around it, losing all the joy, colour and structure that her mother brought to it. Often when we lose someone, we feel like a part of ourselves has been ripped from us, like a missing limb or a hole in your once full heart. In GRIS’s case, this manifests as the loss of her abilities. She struggles to walk, to move through the world on her own, to begin with. Her voice, which can restore life to the world and heal the cracks in it, has been stripped from her. Every time she opens her mouth, nothing comes out – as if she is on one side of a one-way mirror, slamming her hands against it but getting no response.

Every colour she restores to the world, every demon she faces (looking at you, giant creepy eel thing), brings her one step closer to overcoming the grief that is threatening to consume her. The darkness and demons chasing her, seem to indicate depression and anxiety – the way they appear and disappear, how they creep up on her and force her to flee. She can’t fight it, only try to outrun it. The same is in life, you can’t outright fight mental illness. It’s always there and it always comes back. You learn to coexist with it, to lessen its hold on you, to accept it as part of you. The end of the game leans towards this, with her seemingly moving on – her voice spiraling up into the sky, harmonizing with her mother’s, shattering the remaining darkness and restoring colour to the world. It’s a powerful ending to a powerful game.

Light and darkness cannot exist without one another.

This is probably the most moving game I’ve played in the last year. Having recently lost my grandfather, it spoke to me on an incredibly personal level. Even if you can’t afford it right now, watch a playthrough of it, or even listen to the game’s soundtrack. It is, hauntingly beautiful and something I think we all understand on a primal level. Grief and loss are a part of life, yet I hadn’t played a game that really summed up that experience until I played GRIS.

I hope you all have a great week, next up is Little Nightmares! If you enjoyed this piece, remember to like it, follow the site and comment below any feedback or suggestions for future articles!

Much love,

CaitlinRC