…here are a hundred words I wrote last year that no one has seen. I’ve never felt totally comfortable sharing them; I worry, basically, that I’ll look like an asshole.
I wish I could just write that Curtain is a game that I did not “get.” To say that Kaci’s—Kaci, her, it feels important to emphasize that yes, I mean her—that Kaci’s anger and sadness are foreign to me; that I’ve never thought her thoughts. It would be easy to claim that I can’t understand that kind of desperation for control, or that I don’t struggle with a mind seemingly destined to undo itself, or that I have never felt such absence of emotion/engagement with the people I want to care about. And even if I did own up to all that, I could still end on a hopeful note—use this as a chance to forgive myself, at least, even though it is not clear, all this time later, if there is actually anything that needs forgiving.
I don’t want to make this exclusively a “games” thing; it’s just one point of reference in what feels like a massive constellation. But in this moment, what frightens me about Curtain, what it and so many things have raised recently, are the myriad ways I’ve failed to be a decent person, emotionally absent, unresponsive to help. “Getting it” suggests, if not guilt, then at least an absence of innocence. How much like Kaci could I be? Am I already? Am I just biding my time? Have I already tried to tear others down with me? It would be a mercy not to wonder—but perhaps an undeserved one.