Pac-Man: Coping with Insignificance and Compulsive Eating

Therapist: Welcome back, Pac-Man. How have things been since our last appointment?

Pac-Man: [munching sound, swallows] Same. The maze, the pellets, the ghosts. Round and round, same old song.

Therapist: You mentioned last week that eating keeps you moving. What are you hoping to fill when you eat?

Pac-Man: My tummy.  Also, the soul-crushing emptiness. Every pellet’s a little bite of “you still matter.” But it never lasts.

Therapist: So the pellets feel like reassurance. But do they make you feel satisfied?

Pac-Man: For about three seconds. Then I’m already scanning the next corridor, like I’m afraid of stopping. Because if I stop, I remember… nobody’s playing anymore.

Therapist: What do you mean?

Pac-Man: Look, I was one of the first. The original star. I was video games. It was just me and Pong. Honestly, who really wants to play Pong? 

Therapist:  Nobody really.

Pac-Man:  That's right, nobody! Anyway, I used to be on top of the world.  Now Mario’s got movies, Sonic’s got sequels, even Donkey Kong’s a meme. Me? I'm not even a collector's item!  Remember those old coin-op bar tables of me with the panelling on the side?  They're practically giving those away.  Ugh!

Therapist: That sounds painful — to have defined an era, and feel left behind by the new ones.

Pac-Man: Yeah. Everyone moved on. And I just keep running, eating through maze after maze like it'll prove I’m still relevant. You know what pellets taste like now? Bitterness. And marshmallows. But mostly bitterness.

Therapist:  So, tell me about the ghosts.  What do they mean to you?

Pac-Man:  At first I was scared of them.  They were always chasing me.  Trying to corner me. Now they're just annoying.

Therapist:  What do you mean?

Pac-Man:  They're so generic.  Ghosts...Oooh scary!  Better run! No, they haven't changed since day one.  Same old boring ghosts. Just like me. Same old Pac-Man. Time has passed us by. It's really annoying.

Therapist: So, if the ghosts symbolize the past, what do you think they want from you?

Pac-Man: They want me to admit I’m obsolete. That I belong in some retro-arcade for hipsters. 

Therapist: And the Power Pellets?

Pac-Man: That’s the worst part. For ten seconds, I feel powerful again. People cheer. The ghosts run from me. I feel like I’m back in ’82. But then it wears off, and the ghosts come back — angrier, faster. It’s like… a punishment for thinking that I mattered again.

Therapist: What about the fruit?

Pac-Man: Distraction. Empty calories. “Look everyone, cherries!” As if a new sprite will make me special again. It doesn’t. It just pulls me off course. 

Therapist: It seems like your hunger isn’t for food — it’s for recognition.

Pac-Man: …Yeah. I don’t want pellets. I want to matter again. But the world’s not hungry for Pac-Man anymore.

Therapist: Maybe it isn’t about being the newest hero. Maybe it’s about honoring the fact that you opened the door for all the others. Can you see your legacy as part of the bigger picture?

Pac-Man: Legacy? That’s a fancy word for “old news.”

Therapist: Or for “foundation.” Without you, the maze wouldn’t exist for anyone else.

Pac-Man: [pauses, sighs] …That’s something. It doesn’t exactly fill the void, but it’s something.

Therapist: Sometimes acceptance is the first pellet. We’ll keep working on what comes after.

Pac-Man: As long as I can pay you in quarters. I'm up to my eyeballs in quarters.

Therapist:  I think we've made some real progress today.  Maybe next week we get back to your relationship with Mrs. Pac-Man.

Pac-Man:  Who?  Oh yeah, sure...Sorry, I'm starving.