Every gamer hits that wall sometimes. You boot up a new game, ready to unwind or chase some high-level loot, and instead, you’re met with frustration or just pure confusion. Sometimes, it’s easy to wonder if gaming is all that fun anymore or worth your time at all.
I’ve had a few of those moments, where a game drained my energy so hard it made me question the entire hobby. It’s not always because the game is bad, either. Sometimes it’s just the wrong game at the wrong time, or it might just not have been something I could get into.
Tunic is gorgeous and mysterious, but after a few hours, I started to feel like I’d walked into a puzzle that was judging me. The game gives you a manual in another language and expects you to piece everything together yourself.
It’s clever, and I understand why people love it, but I kept second-guessing every step I took. I spent more time alt-tabbing to look up hints than actually enjoying the game.
9Pathological 2
The Most Stressful Game I’ve Ever Loved Hating
I went in expecting a bleak survival story and got a full-blown existential crisis instead. Hunger, exhaustion, illness, guilt: it just keeps stacking up fast and never lets up.
I admire how committed it is to its tone, but after one too many failed attempts to save someone I barely understood, I just sat there wondering why I was doing this to myself. It’s brilliant in its own way, but was too intense for me.
I thought I wanted a realistic military sim. Then I spent 20 minutes crawling through grass while being yelled at by someone who clearly took this way more seriously than I did. Every system has layers, and every mistake feels like a personal failure.
Walking away from a game you’re not enjoying is valid. Finishing a game out of guilt or FOMO doesn’t make it more fun.
I respect how deep it goes (and my husband absolutely loves it), but after my third death by “accidentally alt-tabbed during a mission briefing,” I started wondering if maybe Mario Kart was more my speed.
Flying in Anthem felt amazing. Everything else? Not so much. Missions blur together, and the world somehow feels both empty and cluttered. I kept waiting for it to click, for that “just one more mission” feeling to kick in. It never did.
Instead, I felt like I was checking boxes on a to-do list I didn’t write. By the time I stopped playing, I wasn’t even frustrated. Just tired. Although, given the game’s fate, it appears I wasn’t alone with this one.
I loveturn-based games. I lovegothic horror. And yet Darkest Dungeon broke me. Every success feels like a fluke, and every mistake snowballs into full party collapse. Even when I was winning, it didn’t feel good.
The game wants you to suffer, and while I respect that artistically, it also made me stare at the screen and genuinely ask, “Do I enjoy any of this?” I wasn’t sure. I still might not be.
At first, I thought I could handle it. It’s just aphysics-based climbing game, right? But ten minutes in, I lost hours of progress because I bumped a rock the wrong way, and I genuinely stared at the wall for a few minutes afterward.
I’ve gone back and enjoyed some of these games later. Mood, timing, and burnout all play a huge role in how a game lands.
The narration doesn’t help. It’s like the game is smirking at you the whole time. I kept playing out of spite, but by the end, I wasn’t sure who I was mad at.
Back when it first came out, No Man’s Sky gave me unlimited stars and somehow made space feel boring. I wandered from planet to planet, scanning rocks and walking in circles, wondering when the game would start. I kept thinking, “Maybe the next planet will be the one,” but it never was.
I know it’s better now, and I’ve actually gone back and enjoyed it, but in those early days it made me consider picking up a new hobby entirely, especially after I had been so excited for its launch.
I booted this up expecting a goofy, chaotic time. What I got was a full-blown existential crisis while trying to pick up a scalpel. The controls are intentionally awful, and every movement feels like your hands are underwater.
It’s okay to take a break. Sometimes your brain just needs a palate cleanser, like Tetris or petting your Stardew Valley chickens.
I performed a heart transplant once, but only because I accidentally threw the other organs out of the body. I didn’t feel accomplished. I felt like I needed a lie down and a reevaluation of my life choices.
2Desert Bus
What If Gaming Is Actually A Mistake?
It’s a real-time drive from Tucson to Las Vegas. Eight hours. One straight road. No pause button. No music. If you drift slightly off course, you crash. The bus veers just enough to require constant correction.
I tried it once, mostly out of morbid curiosity. After 20 minutes, I shut it off. I love weird games, but Desert Bus made me feel like I had been personally tricked by the concept of playing a game.
1Battlefield 2042 (At Launch)
An Existential Void Dressed As A Shooter
I spawned, got shot from nowhere, respawned, then died again. Repeat that for two hours, and you’ve basically played Battlefield 2042 at launch. If you did get out of spawn, the maps felt empty, despite having 128 players. Presumably because the other 127 were either spawn camping or stuck in a death loop.
The classes were gone, the bugs were everywhere, and the game seemed allergic to anything that felt fun. I kept asking myself, “Am I the problem? Did I just forget how to enjoy multiplayer shooters?” But no, I didn’t. The game just forgot how to be one.
