I’m Not Addicted to Games—I’m Just Trying to Remember How to Feel

Every night on the subway, I see it: a quiet girl staring at her phone. Her fingers tap softly. A notification pings—”You won!” Her eyes flicker with something like joy.

I used to design systems that tracked those moments. Now? I wonder if we’re not playing for wins… but for feelings.

The Myth of Control

Games like Battle Roost sell themselves as arenas of power: choose your rooster, place your bet, watch the storm unfold under Zeus’s gaze. But beneath the mythic soundtrack and glowing victory animations lies something quieter—a promise: You matter here.

In a world where silence is often mistaken for loneliness, games offer a kind of digital intimacy. You’re not ignored. You’re included.

But here’s what no algorithm tells you: your craving isn’t for winning—it’s for being felt.

When Play Becomes Prayer

I once led a study on player burnout in competitive platforms. We found that 73% of users didn’t quit because they lost—but because they stopped feeling. No thrill after the win. No meaning in the loss.

That’s when I realized: we don’t play games because we want rewards—we play because we want rhythm.

Your heartbeat syncs with the game’s pulse. Your breath quickens before each roll. It’s not gambling—it’s ritual.

And rituals are sacred only when they belong to us—not stolen by code designed to keep us scrolling.

The Algorithm That Knows You Too Well

They say Battle Roost has 95% win rates and transparent data. But transparency doesn’t mean safety.

When an AI learns your click patterns better than your therapist does… what happens when it starts predicting your sadness before you even feel it?

We’re not just consumers—we’re emotional data streams being trained into habits.

“Your every tap is teaching a god how to love you back—and then break you.” This isn’t hyperbole. It’s psychology under siege by engagement metrics.

Reclaiming Your Inner Rhythm (Without Quitting)

You don’t have to stop playing—or even reduce time—to heal. The real fix isn’t discipline—it’s awareness. Try this:

• Before every session, ask: “Am I seeking excitement… or escape?”
• After each game (win or lose), pause for three breaths—and name one emotion without judgment.
• Set a ‘mental anchor’: one phrase like “This is fun; it doesn’t own me” before starting. These aren’t rules—they’re anchors in emotional storms. It’s not about quitting—it’s about remembering who was there before the screen lit up. When was the last time you felt joy without a notification? The answer might be closer than you think.