If you know me, you know I like to approach reviews with a rather personal and philosophical lens, but even with that, this "review" is going to be kind of strange, so bear with me. Thank you.
Back after my parents divorced, the second marriage for my mother to fail, and she was awarded money my stepfather had been hiding throughout marriage, one of the first things she did was go out and buy a Wii. This was a rather strange thing for my mother to do, because she wasn't really a gamer, but she - much like many people in her age group - thought the Wii could be a fun thing to do together with family members, and she wanted to use other features, like Netflix streaming. One of the things she did, of her own accord, was buy Space Invaders on the Wii shop, because that was her favorite video game.
The level of irony in this is off the charts, let me assure you.
To say that my mother and I had a strained relationship is putting it exceedingly mildly. One time, when I was in a lot of pain mentally and begging for help, crying on my bed, asking to be held, she merely laughed at me. Another time she got incredibly angry at me for one thing or another and decided to throw hardened dog shit she'd found outside at me in my bedroom. And once, while I was sitting in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably and talking about how depressed I was, she simply asked me why I hadn't just killed myself yet.
When I was a teenager, she became addicted to pain medication, partially from the emotional abuse my stepfather was putting the whole family through, and partially because she;d hurt her back years ago when I was very young. This pain medication made her loopy. She would walk around in a overly happy daze, clutching at whatever nearby papers she could, and try to come into my room and sit with me and simply watch whatever it was I was doing at the time. It got so bad that I would wake up in the middle of the night to her sitting on my bed watching me, and I began to put furniture in front of my bedroom door to keep her out.
So, for her to admit to me that Space Invaders was her favorite video game is so much the definition of irony that it should be used in the dictionary. So asked me to play Space Invaders with her, and I did from time to time, mostly to keep her satisfied and off my back. I was never particularly either fond of or negative towards Space Invaders, but somehow, knowing it was her favorite game, made me hate it a whole lot more than I ever had before. I was all too familiar with having my space invaded, my entire life was an act of space invasion, and in a way, the literal physical act of playing it with her seemed almost purposeful, like she knew what she was doing. I can't fully believe she didn't. She was a conniving person, much as she'd like to deny that. Growing up, I rarely had a right to personal space, much less the right to try and claim any space as my own, even if it was something like my bedroom.
I stopped speaking to my mother back in 2015, when I finally managed to leave and move in with my longtime girlfriend, whom I'm still with, and I haven't played Space Invaders since then either. Whenever I see anything about the game, to this day, I shudder and recoil. I've got PTSD attached to a arcade game from the 70s.
I want this to be made incredibly clear; I'm a mentally challenged woman who games to escape her life, and yet my life seems to be inexplicably tied to games in some manner or another. That's why these reviews are the way they are. Gaming for me, as a little girl, wasn't just a hobby, it was an escape from a terrible reality where I was molested by my own stepsister and forced to sit at the dinner table all night if I couldn't finish dinner because of my texture issues regarding food since I'm autistic. Gaming was a way to actually matter, in some way, because you always play the protagonist. Saving the world, killing the villain, proving yourself to be worthy; something someone such as myself, someone who was constantly told they weren't worthy, desperately needed. So for her to do what she did, with Space Invaders, felt like her trying to soil the one thing I'd had my whole life to help me cope.
I fucking hate Space Invaders.
Not because it's a bad game, no, but because it's a hideous stain on an otherwise beautiful quilt I've used my whole life to warm myself with from the coldness that surrounded me in reality. And because of this, the quilt is still usable, it's still fairly pretty, but that stain never washes out, and thusly it taints a hobby that once was pure.
In conclusion, 1/5 would not recommend.
I'm Maggie. I'm an author/artist. If you like this, you might like my other work at my site Pig Gut or maybe buy my new novel. Thank you.
