Reboot The Game

I used to be an avid Sims player, like a lot of kids my age. I was nine years old when the Sims 3 was released, it was the first game I ever had the pleasure of owning and playing on my laptop. Until then, I had just watched my friends from wealthier families play the Sims 2. It seemed like such a fun game, something to get creative with, something to explore the human condition with – in ways that I wasn’t really aware of at the time. 

self.exe.

The Sims was an attractive concept for me because of how limitless it was: you could be anything you wanted to be, you could have any kind of a life you would like to have, live in a house of your dreams – all created and curated by your own hand. Even the rules of the game, like money and basic needs, were something you could mess with and opt out of if you truly so desired. Everything was possible, and for a Kid of that age with the mind of a creative, there was nothing cooler than that.

But what if you got bored of the household you were playing with? What if you weren’t happy with the way the Sims’ lives had panned out, and you wanted to try again? You could always just start over, create a new save, or make a new family altogether. You could tweak the personality traits all over again, change the relationship dynamics, the length of the Sim’s fucking eyelashes. Sometimes, I would start to really dislike a Sim I had created earlier on, so to fix the issue, I changed up everything about their character, or just straight up killed them. Though, I was never the kind who was extremely fond of always killing their Sims off. Was a bit too empathetic for that, I’d assume. 

I’ve always really liked creating Sims who were supposed to be representations of myself in some way. I wouldn’t give them my name necessarily, they just had some traits I also possessed, they maybe had a similar hair cut or a sense of style, or they were an artist and a bookworm. But I would never make Sims with the intention of creating an exact replica of myself, and I think I know why that is now, a bit later. 

I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t hate myself. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but it’s an accurate one here, no matter how dramatic it may sound. I was taught to hate every fiber of my being from a very young age, even before going to elementary. Today, it’s been 10 consecutive years that I have systematically replied to every depression questionnaire I’ve taken “I hate myself”, despite the level of other depressive symptoms I have had. My self-hatred has been the catalyst for a lot of my self-destructive behavior and suicide plans. When I’m alone, by myself, there is nothing I like about myself, being me. It is only when I’m with my loved ones that I find it easier to tolerate myself, living with myself.

I’ve tried to change things about myself more times than I can count, but it has never actually truly worked, because here’s the worst part: I am literally unable to be anything else than who I truly am. I’m a terrible actor, an even worse liar, and my neurodivergency amplifies all of this by a thousand. So I either am the horrible person I hate, or I don’t exist at all. You can probably see where that might lead me.

With every Sim-me I have created, I have picked one or a few characteristics about myself that I find more than tolerable, and then used them to build a would-be version of me, a better version, someone I would actually like to be and be around. Because that has been the closest I have ever gotten to changing who I am, become a different kind of person, to find a new selfhood. Unfortunately, you can’t reboot the game of Life, enter a mode where you pick and choose things you want to be included in your selfhood. You just have to accept the cards you have been dealt, no matter how much you hate all the twos and threes in your hand. Make something out of them, like a straight flush. 

Or you can try building that house of cards too, but you know the risks you need to take.

Motherloding,

ichigonya