We play to escape; to explore; to feel; to forget; to try for ourselves the things that don't exist. I've spent countless hours lost in the dopamine rush of first-person shooters, or the equally intense cognitive stressor of strategy games. What if I had spent those hours doing other activities? Would I be a different person? Of course.

At some point, you ask yourself why you continue. These games are (at present) inconsequential to your real-life, except that they consume hours of your allotted time in this world. Some soul-searching might commence. If we travelled back in time, when life was about surviving and not thriving, our current state of affairs would seem like a utopia. In that perspective, my hours of gaming feel more rationalized. Why shouldn't I treat myself? I am the last in a long line of successful procreations and survivals to breeding age. My ancestors could only have dreamed of this, so it is my duty to enjoy it.

But after spending so many hours, you start searching for more meaning. What if I created games? Would games then mean more? Involve myself with the medium, make it into my entire life on a deeper level.

I wonder if they hand out Prozac for Gaming Anxiety.