Four months and 40 hours later, I'm still trapped in Hollow Knight: Silksong, the notoriously difficult sequel to the critically acclaimed Hollow Knight. As I sit here, my arm throbbing in agony, I realize that this experience has been a crash course in resilience and the importance of accepting one's limitations.
I'd been waiting for years to get my hands on Silksong, but when it finally released, I was hesitant due to the recent diagnosis of brachial neuritis, inflammation of the nerve path that travels from the base of your neck down to your hand. The good news was that it usually gets better in about one to three years, and I hadn't lost any function in my right hand, but the bad news was that there was nothing much to be done about the pain in the meantime.
As a gamer who's always pushed themselves to beat the toughest challenges, I found myself struggling to adjust to this new reality. The traditional pain meds didn't do much for nerve pain, and the few options available only sent me loopy. So, I had to figure out how to live with it – and Silksong became my unlikely ally.
The game's atmosphere is hauntingly beautiful, like a nightmare from which you never wake up. The world of Pharloom is a twisted, nightmarish realm where bugs have been poisoning their minds for untold generations. As I made my way through the game, I felt like I was trapped in this hellish world, with no clear escape route.
But it's exactly this sense of being trapped that made Silksong feel so cathartic. Playing the game, which would normally be a source of frustration and anger for me, became an exercise in acceptance. I'd explore the game slowly, taking breaks whenever my hand started to throb in agony. It was a strange, symbiotic relationship – playing Silksong helped me cope with my pain, while coping with my pain allowed me to play the game.
As I continued through the game, I realized that this experience had taught me something profound: pain is not something that can be overcome with sheer determination. There's no narrative of perseverance and eventual redemption; just a never-ending cycle of suffering. But by acknowledging pain and learning to work around it, you can make your way through.
After four months and 40 hours, I've finally reached the final boss – but it's not the triumphant feeling I was expecting. Instead, it's a sense of relief that comes from accepting my limitations. Silksong may have been an agonizing journey, but it's also taught me something invaluable: that there's no point to suffering, and that sometimes, all you can do is keep moving forward.
As I sit here, typing out these words with one hand while the other throbs in agony, I'm reminded that pain is a strange and mysterious thing. But by learning to live with it, I've discovered something even more remarkable: the power of resilience, acceptance, and – above all – the importance of playing on.
I'd been waiting for years to get my hands on Silksong, but when it finally released, I was hesitant due to the recent diagnosis of brachial neuritis, inflammation of the nerve path that travels from the base of your neck down to your hand. The good news was that it usually gets better in about one to three years, and I hadn't lost any function in my right hand, but the bad news was that there was nothing much to be done about the pain in the meantime.
As a gamer who's always pushed themselves to beat the toughest challenges, I found myself struggling to adjust to this new reality. The traditional pain meds didn't do much for nerve pain, and the few options available only sent me loopy. So, I had to figure out how to live with it – and Silksong became my unlikely ally.
The game's atmosphere is hauntingly beautiful, like a nightmare from which you never wake up. The world of Pharloom is a twisted, nightmarish realm where bugs have been poisoning their minds for untold generations. As I made my way through the game, I felt like I was trapped in this hellish world, with no clear escape route.
But it's exactly this sense of being trapped that made Silksong feel so cathartic. Playing the game, which would normally be a source of frustration and anger for me, became an exercise in acceptance. I'd explore the game slowly, taking breaks whenever my hand started to throb in agony. It was a strange, symbiotic relationship – playing Silksong helped me cope with my pain, while coping with my pain allowed me to play the game.
As I continued through the game, I realized that this experience had taught me something profound: pain is not something that can be overcome with sheer determination. There's no narrative of perseverance and eventual redemption; just a never-ending cycle of suffering. But by acknowledging pain and learning to work around it, you can make your way through.
After four months and 40 hours, I've finally reached the final boss – but it's not the triumphant feeling I was expecting. Instead, it's a sense of relief that comes from accepting my limitations. Silksong may have been an agonizing journey, but it's also taught me something invaluable: that there's no point to suffering, and that sometimes, all you can do is keep moving forward.
As I sit here, typing out these words with one hand while the other throbs in agony, I'm reminded that pain is a strange and mysterious thing. But by learning to live with it, I've discovered something even more remarkable: the power of resilience, acceptance, and – above all – the importance of playing on.
I feel you! I was so stoked for this game but then I got stuck on that one level in Dark Souls... 50 hours later 
I'm like "okay universe, I get it" 
. It's crazy how a game can teach us more about ourselves than we thought possible. I mean, who knew playing the same level over and over could be so therapeutic? 
It's all about perspective, right? Instead of getting frustrated, you learn to find peace in the struggle 
. I'm all for taking breaks when my gaming arm gets tired 
. The lack of clear guidance or support for players with disabilities is a major issue here. I mean, brachial neuritis is no joke, and it's surprising that there wasn't more consideration put into accessibility when designing Silksong.
. And let's talk about the importance of representation – are we seeing enough diverse voices in gaming development, or are we still stuck in a male-dominated bubble?
. It's crazy how a game can be both agonizing and cathartic at the same time 
.
. Instead, it should be a fun way to unwind and explore new worlds 
. Kudos for finding the silver lining in Silksong's difficult gameplay – you got to grow as a gamer and a person 
!
. But seriously, brachial neuritis can be super debilitating. I had that once and it was like having a constant nagging voice in my head saying "you can't do anything" 
. But what really resonated with me is the part where you say pain isn't something you overcome with determination. I mean, think about it, we've all been there - we're gonna conquer this game, or finish this project, but then BAM! Reality hits us and we need to take a step back 
. At least your experience taught you that it's okay to accept your limitations and just keep moving forward 
. I mean, who needs a triumphant final boss fight when you can have the satisfaction of making it through with one hand tied behind your back? 
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. Sometimes we just have to learn to live with our limitations, rather than fighting against them 
It's all about finding a new way to cope with the game (and life), and Silksong is definitely a masterclass in doing just that 