Despite my love of lost magic, dragon-hunting, and picturesque fields, Skyrim tore me up inside. While some might savor the hundreds of adventures and glittering chests, I dreaded the exploration. With each turn in the dark depths and darker dungeons, I fought my fears. My fear of missing a single tome. A fabled shield. A letter, lost. The thought of missing such treasure wore away my patience. It shriveled up my fun in Bethesda's world. Such is the exhausting challenge of gaming with a mental illness.