One More Game

Everyone says it must be so easy and fun being a gamer. “Yeah,” they laugh.

“Anyone who’s a gamer is so freaking lucky.” I hear it every time I log on.

What they don’t see is the glow of the monitor at 3 a.m., the empty energy

drink cans stacked like trophies, the chair that creaks louder than my motivation. Being a gamer is

so hard. Especially with him—the voice in my head that never shuts up.

No shower. One more game. The match starts, and suddenly the world disappears.

Win or lose doesn’t matter anymore. Just queue again. Fingers hurt. Eyes burn.

Still—one more game. At some point, I whisper it out loud: “I hate being a