The invisible struggles

Balance game

Maya stared fixedly at the glowing screen in front of her, her nimble fingers gliding over the keyboard with the precision acquired through countless hours of practice. The common room of the university dormitory was quiet at this late hour; most students had already retired for the night. Only the regular clicks of the mouse and the muffled sounds of the game echoed through the room.

Since her adolescence, video games had been her refuge—a world where she could be a heroine, where her skills were recognized and valued without the interruptions of social reality disrupting this illusion of control and mastery.

However, in recent months, an insistent inner voice had begun to make itself heard. She felt that something was wrong. The escapades in virtual worlds that once freed her from social anxieties had turned into an oppressive routine. Hours passed like minutes, and she often found herself exhausted, neglecting her studies and her relationships with others.

Maya let her hands gently slide off the keyboard, the gaming screen in front of her going dark as she faced a crucial decision. Deep down, she knew she had to find a balance. But the path to that balance seemed so uncertain and frightening. The game provided her comfort, an instant escape from her fears and doubts. Renouncing it meant facing reality head-on, with all its imperfections and challenges.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Then, she made a decision.

The next morning, Maya woke up early, even before the sun rose over the sleepy campus. She headed to the common room, determined to start her day differently. Instead of her laptop, she took a notebook and a pen and began to write.

She wrote about her fears and dreams, about the joy she found in games but also about the limits they had begun to cross. She wrote about her quest for real human connection and the courage it took to face her anxieties without taking refuge in virtual worlds. As the words took shape on the paper, a sense of relief began to envelop her. For the first time in a long while, she felt free, as if she finally had control over her own life. The games weren't inherently bad, but she needed to learn how to manage them in a healthy and balanced way.

When the first rays of the sun streamed through the window, Maya closed her notebook with a shy smile. She knew it wouldn't be easy. There would be moments of doubt and temptation. But she was determined to follow this path to balance.

Dear Diary,

I still remember the first video game I played. It was a rainy afternoon, and my older brother had brought a brand-new console to the house. We spent hours exploring fantastical worlds, fighting dragons, and solving complex puzzles. It was magical. At that time, playing video games was just a fun distraction, something that brought my brothers and me together.

Over the years, this passion has become something deeper for me. I began to find immediate solace in virtual worlds. The games were a way to escape from the sometimes overwhelming reality of school and social interactions. I felt in control, competent, able to overcome any challenge that the game presented.

But somewhere along the way, something changed. What was once a hobby became an obsession. I found myself playing not because it was fun, but because I couldn't stop. Hours stretched into days, and sometimes I played all night without even realizing it. I was sinking deeper into virtual worlds to avoid moments of discomfort in my real life. The games had become a refuge, a bubble where I could control every aspect of my existence. Each completed quest, each level won, became a justification to continue.

It was only recently that I began to realize how much it was affecting the rest of my life. My grades started to drop, my relationships with friends grew strained, and even my daily activities were neglected. Sometimes, after a long gaming session, I felt empty, as if I had wasted precious time on something insignificant.

It pains me to admit it, but I think I've become addicted to video games. I can't seem to stop, even when I know I should. The thought of not playing for an entire day makes me anxious, which is ironic because I use games to escape anxiety in my real life.

I know I have to do something. I tried to cut back, to set limits for myself, but it didn't work. Every time I promise myself to play less, I end up giving in to temptation again and again.

Today, I made a decision. I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it yet, but I know I have to find a balance. I need to learn to live my life again without letting video games dominate it.

It's a difficult realization, but writing these words gives me a sense of clarity that I haven't had in a long time. I am determined to confront this addiction, not only for myself but also for those around me whom I have neglected.

Tomorrow is a new day. I don't know what it will bring, but I'm going to start with something small. An hour without a game, maybe. This will be a small step towards the change I know is necessary.

Thank you, diary, for being here for me when I can't talk to anyone else. I'll check in with you soon, with updates on my progress.

See you tomorrow, Maya

As she closed the door behind her to go have breakfast, Maya felt a slight surge of pride. She might not have been a video game heroine, but she was becoming the protagonist of her own story.

Maya had made a firm decision: it was time to take back control of her life, including her relationship with video games. Sitting at her desk in her dorm room, she had a blank sheet of paper and a pen in front of her. The time had come to create a plan, to set clear limits on her gaming hours.

She began by writing at the top of the page: "Balanced Play Schedules." It was a simple title but full of meaning for her. She had spent weeks contemplating this step, considering how she could find a balance between her passion for games and the other important aspects of her life.

First, she decided to set specific times when she could play. No more than two hours a day, after completing academic and social obligations. This limit was a first step to reduce the time spent in virtual worlds while retaining a bit of that passion that had captivated her for so long. She carefully wrote down the details: "2:00 PM to 4:00 PM - Game Time Allowed." She knew this window was ideal because it did not interfere with her morning classes or her interactions with friends in the evening. It was a reasonable compromise, allowing her to enjoy the games without letting them become an overwhelming priority.

Then Maya set a strict rule: no games after 10:00 PM. She had noticed that late-night sessions were often the most damaging to her overall well-being. They affected her sleep and left her exhausted and disorganized for the following days. "10:00 PM - Games Stop," she wrote firmly. It would be her daily reminder to turn off the computer and prepare mentally for a good night's sleep.

As she wrote these rules, Maya felt a mix of relief and nervousness. She knew it wouldn't be easy to stick to them, especially at first. The games had been her refuge for so long, and changing this habit would require discipline and willpower.

She folded the sheet carefully and placed it in her drawer next to her bed. This small piece of paper represented more than just a list of rules; it was a symbol of her commitment to positive change in her life. She still had a long way to go, but she was determined to overcome her addiction and regain a healthy balance.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Maya closed her notebook and decided to go outside for some fresh air. She felt ready to face this challenge, armed with her new rules and the determination to turn her good intentions into concrete actions.

Tomorrow would be the first day of her new routine. And she was ready to do her best to follow it, step by step, towards new horizons.