But Hyrule Needs Me

(We were asked by a friend of the site to run this personal essay, which we present here anonymously at the author’s request. Warnings for difficult subjects like sexual abuse and depression apply.)

I was sexually abused at thirteen years old.

The experience left me so damaged that I wasn’t able to form close relationships or be honest with myself. I subsisted on a diet of two Hostess cupcakes a day because I thought I deserved some form of punishment. I was paying my penance with hunger pains and cutting. Like many victims of sexual abuse, I blamed myself for getting into that predicament. I should have been smarter. I should have seen it coming. Why did I allow myself to get into a situation like that? More than anything, I wanted to speak up and confide in my friends, but whenever I tried, my throat constricted and my stomach flipped. I felt as though I were swallowing my own tongue. Like Zelda from Ocarina of Time, I was trapped in my own floating crystal. I could see the happenings of the world below me but I was so far removed from it. Wracked with intense anxiety and feelings of worthlessness, I screamed but the sound only doubled in volume as it reverberated against the unbreakable walls of the imprisoning crystal. I couldn’t process what I was feeling or why I was feeling it. I’d pound against the walls until my fists no longer resembled human appendages. Instead they turned into these bloodied, misshapen things.

I may have felt trapped, but there was sometimes a way out, through games. I had a place there. The world of Hyrule needed me and, though it was another weight on my small shoulders, it wasn’t one I minded bearing. When saving Hylian citizens from the evil that tainted their world, I was greatly loved and granted agency. I was given access to secret temples and I was revered for my acts of bravery and kindness. I was loved and worthy of that love. In real life, I was a fragment of a person: confused, hesitant, unsure, and afraid. In Zelda’s realm, I was undefeatable and courageous as I traversed across Hyrule field. The Hylians viewed me as the wonder child, the physical embodiment of the magical triforce. I was not of their world but I was an ethereal something else that could not be readily explained.

Link was a blank slate for me to project my best self onto. I couldn’t present my best self in the real world, especially at school. Whenever I tried to reach out, I once again felt trapped inside some inescapable pod. Instead of participating in class, I would slump in my chair and hope that I would somehow dissolve into the tile floor. It was even more frustrating because I considered myself a writer and I wasn’t able to describe or properly articulate my inner strife. What kind of writer was a writer that couldn’t write? A bad one, that’s what. But whenever I fell into the role of the hero on my too-small screen, I could be the person I knew I was deep down. I was a really brave person. I wasn’t the aloof kid that kept her head down all the time. Hyrule was a safe space for me to expel my emotions and turmoil. I could scream at the redeads or weep as I watched the Deku tree die before my eyes.

I also found genuine companionship in Hyrule. Saria and Ruto were more than just graphics on my television screen, they were my closest girlfriends. Saria was wiser than she looked and Ruto was a no nonsense kind of girl. They were the friends I needed when I was at my lowest point in life. They showed me how to be strong. They showed me how to be a friend to others. I wanted to internalize and emulate their strengths. When Link grew into an adult, Saria never once forgot him or severed their connection. Her persistence and dedication were admirable. She possessed an incredible amount of love in her small body. Though Ruto irritated me at first because she forced me to carry her through Jabu Jabu’s belly, I was later moved by her confidence and inner fire.

There was nothing more stimulating or wonderful than booting up a videogame at the end of a difficult day. Whether it was the ritual of playing the game for an allotted amount of time each day or using them as a form of escape, I found meaning in videogames. It was where I belonged and felt accepted. Videogames helped me cope and even work through serious bouts of depression. Though I had communication issues in real life, I was able to find my voice and wield my power in videogames. They kept me engaged and energized. They kept me going when I wanted to give up. Though I still struggle with loving myself from time to time, I’ve moved past my thirteen year old self and come to several realizations.

It was never my fault.

I’m incredibly resilient and powerful.

My writing will help others one day.