lowest point of my life (spoiler: I’m OK)
In January, I was at one of the lowest points of my life.
After two years of isolating myself in the pandemic and telling myself that I’m OK, I realized that it was far from the truth. My apartment was filled with Amazon boxes and other trash, making it almost impossible to navigate the premises. In all honesty, it didn’t even matter — it wasn’t like I was doing much except the same cycle each day: wake up, go on my computer to work, eat, do some more work, lay down in my bed trying to get my mind off life until I eventually fell asleep.
I’d love to glamorize this and throw in some flowery prose about how it was a daily struggle, but it wasn’t. I had a well-paying job and went through the motions, smiling when I had to smile and doing my best to be a professional when I had to be a professional. I wasn’t happy but I decided that I didn’t necessarily deserve happiness — I had stable income during a global pandemic — there was no reason for me to complain, even if I spent hours at night looking up at my ceiling wondering what the point of all of this was.
I got into writing because it was a getaway from the shitty parts of life. When I was a child, I was often the one left alone looking for a friend when everyone else had partnered up. Storytelling to me wasn’t about trying to be the best at something or even to leave some magnum opus for people to discover decades from now. I did it because it was fun and was never difficult for me; it never felt like a chore to get wrapped in a story that made me want to spend hours telling it.
A few months ago I was talking to a longtime friend and we were talking about my work. They said that in terms of technical ability that I was great but that it seemed like I had lost the humor — my personality — that was the drawing point for him to read my stuff to begin with. I brushed back, saying that I had written some amazing long-form pieces in 2021 (which I still believe I did), but in my stomach, I knew they were right.
Even after leaving ESPN, I still was holding myself back creatively in many ways. Not to the fault of anyone except my own, but it was just this voice in the back of my head telling me to stay coloring between the lines because it was the way to succeed. If I could just continue my daily routine, bringing in viewership, raking in social impressions and followers, that should be enough, right?
By the time I broke in January, I didn’t even feel like I was myself anymore. It felt like watching someone behind a mirror and just watching them waste their life. Before, even when life sucked, I would wake up with ideas of grandeur that would push me to take risks. I wanted to topple gigantic projects and continue pushing forward.
When I was a teenager, I would stay up until 3 A.M. at night to watch South Korean esports because of the production. Even though I didn’t understand the language or even StarCraft at a deep level, what translated to me was the stories they were telling through vignettes, teasers, intros and building these incredible backstories.
OGN, the company that produced these telecasts, didn’t have subtitles and most of the time I was watching in the lowest quality possible, and still, the stories translated. I destroyed my sleep schedule because I wanted to know if a certain team could overcome a losing streak or if a player could eliminate their rival from a tournament.
And I’m pretty sure if my teenage self could look at me now, they’d at first be proud. They’d be happy that I was able to make it so far through hard work and dedication. They’d be amazed I was at the point in my life I could afford my own apartment or go out with friends (yes, actual friends, teenage me) anytime I wanted. But then I think they’d wonder if I was still as excited telling stories, and even if I gave a fake laugh and said writing a feature today was the same as back in 2011, I’d be lying.
Two months removed from my low point, I can say that I’m in a better place. I moved to a better apartment. I reconnected with friends that I neglected during the past two years. I finally picked up the phone and called family members who had been trying to contact me for years, allowing them to offer me a hand when I felt trapped.
Since I started this, I’ve always had a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I didn’t grow up with parents and lost my adoptive parents before I turned 18. I was homeless for a spell following my childhood home getting foreclosed upon. I always told myself that I couldn’t fail at this or I would be on the streets again, no prospects in life and no roof over my head.
So after a decade of pushing, pushing, pushing and doing everything possible to never end up homeless again, I looked around and all I had to show for it was an apartment full of boxes and no one to talk to.
My previous relationship ended because I said I needed to focus on work. Some of my close friendships were pushed aside because I didn’t know how to maintain them with my anxiety. And for my extended family, I didn’t want to burden them, like my pain wasn’t valid because I wasn’t a son to anyone.
Recently, if you didn’t know, I have left Enthusiast Gaming and Upcomer. While there were will always be things I would want to do over if I could go back in time, I’m proud of what I was able to accomplish. I helped promote, create a brand and push a network that is being visited by millions of people per month less than a year into its lifespan. I told some amazing stories about some incredible people that I’m sure I’ll look back on years from now and smile about.
Yet, as it was with me and at that old apartment, leaving was probably for the best. I loved a lot of the people I worked with, but staying up until the middle of the night to check on numbers and promote articles isn’t why I started this. I used to ruin my sleep schedule not because I wanted to hit a check mark or achieve a certain goal but because I wanted to tell stories. There were nights as a kid when I was making $0 an article where only a handful of people actually read it but I was happy when I finished it, because I knew that those people who read it would leave that page understanding why I love this world of esports so damn much.
I’m sure some of you just hopped into this wondering what my next move is in the industry. While I think I have an idea of what I want to do next, I want to take some time off for the first time in seven years. It’s the first time since 2014 where I’m not under a contract, which means I can watch esports again without needing to view it was a content producer for once. I can watch VALORANT, League, Counter-Strike, whatever, and just be a fan, so I’m going to do that for at least a week or two.
I can promise is that the next place I go to will be somewhere I can do the things that would have made younger me happy. I want to do big projects and work on features that keep me up at night talking to people because I’m so excited about what the end product could look like.
Honestly, there’s a good chance that my next steps aren’t in the world of journalism or a media site. There’s a lot I want to still do in the gaming world and I want to try new things instead of falling back into a repetitive rhythm.
Regardless of the next step, though, I’m still going to be the esports writer. I’m still going to be telling stories, big and small, and I’m going to try and keep moving forward. I’m sure shit isn’t going to be easy — nothing in life really is — but I have come to realize that even though I’ve done a lot on my own to get here, there’s no way I’m at this point in my life without the help of dozens of people that have vouched or helped me along the way.
I want to end this thing saying my frown has turned upside down and that I’m happy, but I’m not most of the time. It’s a process. Shit, there are still days even in my new place where it’s hard to get out bed.
But I can say that I’m OK.
And from where I was at two months ago, I think that’s a pretty good step if I say so myself.
