Every year, unseasoned freshmen roll out of their dorms and scramble to class through the Arbor, where loads of clubs are flyering for their events. Most of the students fare ok by finding themselves in pre-med frats or CALPIRG. Some are not so lucky. They are trapped in the League of Legends Club, sentenced to social death. I was one of those freshmen, and this is my story.
Now some of you may claim that that I joined the club on my own accord and never uttered the words “no thanks” or “I’ll just put my email down for now,” but that is called victim blaming, and you should read up to be more woke. Just because I was already wearing a t-shirt with Overwatch logos on it doesn’t mean I was “asking for it.” It’s 2018 – wearing anime shirts does not imply consent.
After being attracted by the colorful tent with all the dopest merchandise laid out you can imagine, I got talked into dropping by their club meeting. It was just one time, right? Harmless. I was wrong.
“Don’t you want to fit in? Wouldn’t you like tons of friends who aren’t in douchey frats?” their words were so enticing, and drew in a young and naive freshmen like myself.
One meeting is all they needed to hook me. I’ve seen a multitude of men fall victim to the siren song of LoL, and here I was, another victim. Hours turn into days and before I knew it, the last woman I’d seen in a month was Jinx.
This is not how I meant to spend college. Back in high school, I had a semi reasonable social history. I had girlfriends, I had hookups. At one point I looked down at my phone to see a missed text from my ex girlfriend asking if she could talk, because her current boyfriend was being mean to her but because I was too busy in the depths of Runeterra I didn’t reply. The next thing I knew, her Facebook status said she was married with twins on the way. Life moves on and leaves the Leaguers behind.
I gained popularity in UCSB’s League of Legends club, but by any other measurement of campus life was invisible. The outsiders have always been referred to as “scrubs” and “feeders,” but finally one day I looked around the room at all the other heads bowed down at their computers, right clicking furiously, realized that the outside is the only place I could find something I once called woman.
Trying to break free is difficult. Tinder is suggested but matches are rare even for normal people not recuperating. I found that on my first few dates, I’d relapse by turning the conversation towards League. Besides that, in my years in the club my social skills veered to misogyny and declined to grunts.
I’d find myself in class saying things like “A Biology major? That sounds smart. You must be different from most girls,” “You’ve touched a penis?! Whore! But please touch mine… He’s lonely,” “Your boobs aren’t big enough for you to think you’re pretty.”
I’ve since found the light, but this is my story.
If you or a loved one has become a victim of UCSB’s League of Legend’s, here are some sources dedicated to aiding you in your recovery: Farmersonly.com
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