Author: Jason Rash
Jason Rash, a.k.a Semperdrunk on Discord, is a Marine Corps veteran, husband, father, and grandfather. A lifelong gamer, he credits gaming with helping him navigate sobriety and major life changes after leaving the military. He lives in Virginia with his wife, Ana, and spends most of his time gaming or playing with his grandchildren, Valentino and Gabriel.
When I got out of the military in 2009, I was an absolute train wreck. I had no job, no money, no plans, and a drinking problem that had completely taken over my life. Alcohol was the main reason I left the Marines in the first place, as I had originally intended to stay my full 20. I loved being a Marine. I loved the culture, the camaraderie, and I even had a cool job. My first enlistment went exceptionally well.
I spent a lot of time in the barracks with my buddies, drinking and playing video games. Some of us hated that kind of lifestyle, but not me. That was the best part of the whole gig as far as I was concerned. After my deployment to Fallujah, though, everything started to take a dark downturn. Drinking wasn’t just reserved for those fun barracks party nights anymore. It became a nightly coping mechanism, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. I was self-medicating in the most destructive way possible.
Video games remained a part of my life, though. Back in the barracks, my best friend Matt Q. and I lived and breathed Halo CE. Every night we’d fire up the Xbox and play for hours—Co-Op Legendary, LAN parties, you name it. Q was always way more intense about it than I was. By the time Halo 3 was released, he had gotten out of the Marines and was playing competitively, from what I heard. The last time I spoke to him was over Xbox Live, playing a match together. Not long after, alone in a bar in Pennsylvania, Matt took his own life on Father’s Day, 2008.
That was the beginning of my downfall. After Matt died, something broke, and I took a terrible turn for the worse. My drinking became even more severe, and by the time I got out in 2009, I was a miserable, broken, alcoholic shell of a man with nothing to live for.
I did manage to scrape together a decent enough life for myself, though. I found a job, got back on my feet, and through some strange twist of blind luck, I met the most patient and sweetest woman I have ever known, who later became my wife, Ana.
Drinking was still an issue, of course. The fact that she still stands by me to this day is a testament to her strength and resilience. We never had kids ourselves, but she had a daughter, so I became a stepdad. On her 18th birthday, Cynthia asked me to adopt her, and I did. In one of the most joyful moments of my life, I became a full-fledged father.
We never fretted about not being able to have children of our own because we knew that one day Cynthia would bring us babies of her own to love and cherish—and she did just that. In 2022, baby Valentino was born. Later came baby Gabriel, and our family was complete. The drinking had to stop, and for the first time in my life, I truly meant it. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being present in their lives or having to worry about what drunken stupidity “Papa” might do next. This was it. I had to get sober.
Two months after Valentino was born, I checked myself into an outpatient program at the VA. I had tried other rehabs in the past without much luck—not due to their lack of support, but my lack of readiness, I suppose. This time, I was ready.
Quitting drinking, from a craving perspective, turned out not to be as difficult as I imagined. The real struggle was the waves of guilt that came crashing down on me: the death of my best friend, failing at being a Marine, the decades I wasted down a bottle. Every embarrassing moment I had caused, every family fight, every relationship I had ruined, hit me like a wave of irreconcilable ghosts.
And the boredom. With all this extra free time on my hands, and no booze to fill it, I desperately needed something to occupy my time and my mind, something I could get lost in while I sorted out what this new lifestyle would look like. Up to this point, my marriage, my family life, and my entire outlook on the world had all been filtered through the hazy lens of alcoholism. I needed something to cling to, something to help me stay sane while I figured it all out.
Enter World of Warcraft. Specifically, the rebooted Classic Wrath of the Lich King edition that had just launched. I had played WoW in the barracks, too, so I was excited that my favorite expansion was coming back around for a second time. I found a comfort zone where I could regroup while figuring out what tomorrow was going to look like.
I dove into the game with all the desperation I was feeling. Into that make-believe world, I poured my hope for a future I could build with my grandchildren. Every fear that I wouldn’t make it, every little voice telling me I wasn’t strong enough, I drowned out in the blissful serenity of leveling a character through the snowy landscapes of Northrend. I found my old friends, some of them former military buddies who had returned to the game as well, and together we ventured forth to slay the Lich King himself.
World of Warcraft didn’t fix me, but it gave me a safe place to sit with myself without reaching for a bottle. I went to meetings. I met with doctors. I relearned my relationship with my wife. And when it all became too much, and I needed somewhere to decompress for a bit, I went straight to WoW. I leveled a female Blood Elf named Asha. That was the name my wife and I had chosen back when we were still trying for a child of our own, if we had a girl. That dream now lives on, immortalized in the game as a digital shrine and a reminder of the things people are willing to do for their children.
Now, here we are at the start of a wonderful new year, with three years of sobriety under my belt. Gaming didn’t replace therapy, family, or accountability, but it gave me comfort when I needed it most. I’m already making plans for which video games I’m going to introduce the boys to when they’re old enough to play. I’m thinking Halo would be a good start. Maybe they’ll get to listen to Papa ramble on, telling stories about some guy named Q.
0 Comments