How Spirit City: Lofi Sessions Showed Me Why Representation is Important

I was recently diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and truth be told, it caught me entirely blindsided! Unlike most stories about getting the diagnosis, I wasn't spiralling into distress and confusion about my pain for the same reasons others were. While I was seriously concerned about it, especially when it began spreading all around, I expected to hear that I had messed up my body through poor nutrition and lack of self-care due to my sedentary lifestyle.

This unexpected diagnosis turned my life topsy-turvy: I wasn't as scared about pain anymore because it wasn't a sign of some illnesses that haunt my nightmares (such as arthritis or plain ol' misuse), but now I had to come to terms with what it all meant. Ever since then, it's been a rollercoaster, as I've had to accept different layers of having fibromyalgia, from more laidback ones like learning a new lifestyle to more emotional ones like facing trauma again and the very tangible possibility of ending in a wheelchair.

I didn't expect it to affect me all that much, especially because I didn't anticipate it to be bothersome as I don't have any hobbies that require my legs. It turns out that a lot about the experience hadn't dawned on me, such as how difficult this would be on my wife (she's really stepped up to the task, and I am grateful from the bottom of my heart), how heavy the confused stares of passersby can be, and how this could trigger my (pretty controlled) thanatophobia.  

As the weeks passed and I exposed myself to the thought and experience (like by going to the mall and using a wheelchair instead of my cane), I made painfully slow progress towards acceptance. Then, on the 26th of August, Spirit City: Lofi Sessions — an app/game I use almost daily —  dropped its latest update, which brings a ton of new decor and features… Among them a wheelchair. When I first saw it as an option, I was just browsing through the new stuff that I had been counting down the days to try out, such as the new furniture and pets. My gut reaction upon seeing it was explosive frustration; I felt like fibromyalgia had invaded more of my life and had reached a sacred, personal, and untouchable space.

Thankfully, throughout so many years of therapy and learning about psychology, I knew the only way through was through. In fact, I acknowledged that this was an excellent opportunity for me to come to terms with it, even as my body was being overwhelmed by emotion. I knew what I had to do, so against my own will, I quickly bought the two I liked, and I let that sit with me for a while. I didn't force myself to use them, and I occupied my mind with something else, as there was little use in dawdling in self-pity. While I initially felt such repulsion that I worried I might abandon the game, I was surprised at how quickly I just accepted the in-game wheelchair's existence, and within a few days, I found myself using it.

There is something indescribably comforting about waking up to a fatigued and pained body and seeing it reflected in Spirit City, where the environment is peaceful and relaxing. That and the idea that so many other people around the world were also using the wheelchair in-game made me feel not so alone. The mixture of tranquillity, community, and safety eventually gave me a new perspective on the whole situation: yes, it's uncomfortable to get stared at; yes, it's sad that I have to rely on my wife so much (for her sake); and yes, it sucks that this is all thanks to trauma, but it doesn't have to be bad, scary, or upsetting. It is just a fact and a new reality, and if I can look so peaceful in-game with my cute pets, the gentle rain, and the lo-fi tunes, then I can be okay in real life, too.

I'd love to leave a big thank-you here to Mooncube Games as well as all the developers who have gone out of their way to add these sorts of options. Seeing something like this represented in such a gentle way touched my heart, and I understand yet again (and more than ever) how important representation is and why. I look forward to having a real wheelchair now, and I'm more than endlessly grateful for that.