When Reading is a Boss Fight
There’s a certain irony in how video games, those beautiful, button-mashing escapes from reality, can sometimes recreate the very struggles you’re trying to get away from. If you’re dyslexic like me, the battlefield isn’t just in-game. It’s in the menus. It’s in the timers. It’s in the unspoken expectation that your brain should operate at 200 words per minute, or else you're just “not good enough.”
Let me be clear up front: I love gaming. I’ve played thousands of hours of video games and don’t intend to slow down (too much). But let me also be equally clear: video games are not built with dyslexia in mind. And that’s a problem, especially when we start talking about competitive games. So let’s talk about it.
The Shop Menu is My Mortal Enemy
Let’s start with a classic. League of Legends. Ah yes, the land of ancient runes, dragons, and the kind of community that makes you question if humanity deserves Wi-Fi.
The thing about League is, everything comes down to efficiency. Every second matters. If you’re not gaining XP, pushing lanes, farming gold, or ganking someone’s jungle, then guess what? You’re falling behind.
Now imagine this: I recall back to base with a wallet full of gold, open the shop, and stall out. Because every item has a long name, a tooltip, stats, passive effects, build paths—and I need to read all of it. Fast. Which I can’t. Not like most people.
I tried setting up item sets. I memorized what I could. But the second I had to adapt mid-game, it was like trying to do calculus with a flamethrower pointed at me. And while I’m standing there in the shop, sorting through five variants of “magic staff thingy,” the enemy mid-laner is getting stronger. Faster. Meaner. And my teammates? Oh, they’re real understanding. By which I mean flaming me for existing.
Two minutes later, I waddle back to lane. I’m under-leveled, underfed, and underprepared. Not because I didn’t know what to buy, but because I needed more time to process it. And the game doesn’t give you time. Efficiency is king. And I’m playing with a five-second delay on every decision.
Nightreign and the 15-Second Disadvantage
Now let’s talk about a game I actually love. Elden Ring: Nightreign. It’s fast, it’s tense, and it’s got the kind of brutal charm that FromSoft does best. I’m genuinely enjoying it.
But here’s the catch: Nightreign is time-based. There's a circle closing in, loot to grab, enemies to beat, and only so much time to power up before you face the big boss. And all the loot is randomized. So every new spell or weapon I pick up? I have to read it. I have to figure out what it does, how it fits with my build, and whether it’s worth swapping out something else.
And that takes time.
While my teammates are sprinting to the next tower or clearing the next room, I’m stuck at the last chest, squinting at a spell description like I’m trying to decipher a cursed scroll. I know what kind of abilities I want. I know how to play my role. But I can’t skim-read gear and commit to decisions in two seconds like everyone else.
So what happens? I fall behind. Not always in levels, but in presence. I’m not helping with fights. I’m not clearing as fast. I’m not there. I start to feel like I’m holding the team back, and not because I’m unskilled. Just because I need a little more time to read. That’s it. That’s the difference. Fifteen to twenty seconds of text I couldn’t absorb fast enough.
And those seconds? They add up.
The Character I’m Not Allowed to Play
Now let’s move from frustrating to downright painful.
Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. A game I love. A game I’ve played competitively. And a game that handed me one of the clearest reminders that this thing, this dyslexia, isn’t going away.
Let’s talk about Hero.
Cool character. Strong moves. And a gimmick that is basically a death sentence for anyone who can’t read at lightning speed. His Down-B opens a menu in the middle of battle, giving you four random spells to choose from. And those spells? They all have names like "Whack," "Thwack," and "Kaboom" which, sure, sound fun, but require actual reading to know what they do.
Now imagine trying to read a random list of spells during a live fight, with someone’s Ganondorf sprinting at you like he just found out you owe him money.
I can’t do it. There’s no prep. No way to memorize the options. It’s all random, and it’s all timed. So what happens? I just don’t use it. I ignore Hero’s main mechanic. I fight using his normals, maybe toss out a fireball, and hope I don’t need the thing that makes him actually good.
And that sucks.
Not because I’m salty I can’t play one character. But because for the first time in my gaming life, I couldn’t work around it. I couldn’t mitigate it. I just wasn’t allowed to fully engage with what the character offered. It’s like trying to run a race with one leg tied up and then being told you just need to “git gud.”
Still Here, Still Playing
I’m not trying to make every game easier. I don’t want a big flashing “accessibility mode” slapped onto every menu. I just want to play the same games everyone else does without having to wrestle the UI like it owes me money.
It’s not about needing more skill or more practice. It’s about time. About how much of it a game gives you before it punishes you for taking it. And when reading is part of the challenge, that clock runs faster for some of us.
So I adapt. I skip mechanics. I prep more than most. I memorize what I can and avoid what I can’t. Some days, that works. Some days, it doesn’t.
But I’m still playing.