*Author note: Given the subject matter of this article, I would like to state that I absolutely acknowledge everyone has their own experiences with mental illness. What I go through may not be what you go through and vice versa. Please note that the personal experiences below are my own, and do not necessarily reflect everyone’s experiences.
Very few works of media have struck me in the way Silent Hill 2 does. As much as I adore this game, it also provides me an air of misery that’s difficult to ignore. A darkness that both fascinates and chills me. A haunting depth that is intriguing to observe, but also, eerily relatable.
There are numerous retrospectives that cover Silent Hill 2’s history (perfect given that the game just celebrated its 20th anniversary). This feature is not a retrospective, this is something much more personal (though there are aspects of the game I will be revisiting and exploring).
If you’re familiar with any of my writing, then you know I have a strong passion for psychological horror. Silent Hill 2 isn’t just my all-time favorite work of psychological horror, it’s my favorite work of horror in general. I am blown away when I think about what the game accomplishes thematically through both its narrative and gameplay structure; the level of detail provided throughout its runtime, as well as its breathtaking horror are masterful. It’s an experience that touches upon a great fear I have felt, one that invaded my younger life (while still popping up from time to time as an adult).
I’m far removed from the person and actions that make up protagonist James Sunderland – but what the town of Silent Hill does to his mind – that’s a hell I am familiar with.
Among the many elements that have cemented Silent Hill 2’s legacy are its thematic depth and exploration. The craft of the video game narrative has reached greater heights since that of 2001; Silent Hill 2 however, was something beyond that of its contemporaries. It not only provides a story of heavy and mature subject matter, but details its themes and characters in a nuanced manner. It also uses its environment to further elevate its themes – the thick, ominous fog and decrepit landscape intensifying feelings of dread.
At its core, Silent Hill 2 is about grief and trauma. Shifting away from the cult-driven supernatural horror of the first game, Silent Hill 2 embraces psychological horror – said horror coming in the form of exploring the psyche of its protagonist James. Spoilers incoming. After the death of his wife Mary – who suffered from an illness – James gets a letter from her, inviting him to the town of Silent Hill (once considered their special place). As James ventures through the town, meeting its various monsters and other people within, layers of James’ mind begin to peel back. It is only later that the player finds out that, in his frustrations over Mary’s suffering, James actually killed her.
In portraying the mental state of James, the game utilizes an extraordinary and chilling blend of supernatural and psychological framing. One comes to find out as they play that this version of Silent Hill contains a mystical power – one capable of drawing in damaged people and warping their minds. The monsters James combats are physical manifestations of his inner struggles, be it: anger, repression, guilt, and so on. They are almost literal interpretations of his inner demons.
This physical manifestation of James’ psyche is what has captivated me for all these years and is a major reason why I love Silent Hill 2. The framing of monsters and environments to represent internal suffering has always been a fascinating concept to me. It’s very much the reason I fell in love with films such as The Babadook and Relic. The mind is a difficult terrain of horror not just to navigate, but to portray to others. Much more so in the past, stories pertaining to mental anguish or mental illness have relied on over-the-top presentations; someone dealing with a manic episode, schizophrenia, or depression is shown throwing themselves and banging their head against a wall. Now this isn’t to say that Silent Hill 2 doesn’t have its moments where it goes a little over the top, but throughout its overall presentation, it provides a much more subtle and intimate portrayal of what one’s own lonesome hell may be like.
The town of Silent Hill turns the mind of the individual on itself; it forces them to endure grueling, terrible monsters and environments that pull from their trauma and suffering. The town’s power forces these people to confront themselves and exist within a madness – a horror that I used to fear greatly.
I absolutely believe that my mental illness has played some role in my passion for horror; that my difficulties have created an added bond of sorts with that of the macabre. A reason I have been drawn to art and entertainment of the dark, if you will, is because said art almost feels validating to my existence. Not the zombie infestation or slasher fests sort of dark, but those works pertaining to psychology. There are several disorders portrayed in cinema, games, and literature that I don’t have – but to see a representation of mental struggle, it makes me feel seen.
I’ve written other articles speaking to my troubles with depression, but the most brutal of my uphill battles has always been OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is an… interesting disorder in our cultural discourse. I think that, among all the other mental illnesses that exist, it is by far one of the most used in terms of jokey statements. “I am very OCD, organization is super important to me.” Let alone these types of statements being ignorant, they also have the means to detract from what else OCD is capable in dealing out to those afflicted with it. In particular, the aspect that involves intrusive violent thoughts.
It shocked me some years ago when I came across an article from The Atlantic that actually talked about this form of OCD, only because it’s a side of OCD you don’t commonly hear about. While the thoughts are different from person to person, what this side of OCD does is spring abrasive and abrupt thoughts and visuals within one’s mind – specifically, something violent and/or shocking. This creates an immediate sense of repulsion and disturbance within the person, for these thoughts always pertain to something they would never do or think. Many of these thoughts may involve causing some sort of violence to a person, sometimes a loved one. It could be something like a thought where the individual lashes out and attacks someone with a weapon; perhaps the image of a random kitchen knife sets off an intrusive thought of violence, the OCD then working its way to layer on a fabricated narrative that the individual wishes to enact something cruel. The abrasive nature of said thoughts takes over the individual, the trigger kicking off the Compulsive component to OCD. The person will strive to go about a ritual that aims to rid them of such repulsion; this action is meant to not only reassure themselves of who they are, but may also serve as a repentance of sorts for feeling such shame.
I am someone who has struggled with such OCD and horrific violent visuals, and every time something like this has come up, I’d repeat over and over that I am not a monster or some evil person. I’d repeat over and over that, I was sorry and repeat that I would never do such things. The thing is though, regardless of such awareness of myself, the initial repulsion also kicks off the Obsessive component to OCD; I’d become so disgusted with myself that I couldn’t let go of the thoughts. I’d allow them to linger and damn myself, saying that I was worthless and vile. The disorder tricks one into believing they are some kind of monster – it gaslights one to question their own sanity. In my case, a loving family and a therapist couldn’t convince me all the time that I wasn’t some vile bastard – my OCD had a hold of me.
During those years where my OCD was at its worse, there were times I felt horribly alone within my head. Thankfully, over time with love, support, and finding community and art, I began to develop strong coping mechanisms and live a much happier life.
In the horror that I watch, read, and play, I’ve seen very few reflections of this sort of agony – that is, until Silent Hill 2.
Silent Hill 2 isn’t about OCD, it isn’t even explicitly about mental illness – what it is about, however, is a story of a person who is suffering. Someone who is broken so badly, that their world and mind are turned inside out. Now, I’ve always viewed the events of Silent Hill 2 as James being punished for his actions, Silent Hill drawing him in and making him see the error of his ways; the parts of himself that have turned ugly. But in seeing James’ world transformed and him losing himself, that idea of disconnect chilled me (still chills me to this day). Granted, there are leagues of difference between James and I – but in a somewhat thematic, parallel line I can draw between the two – the game gets me to think back to my younger years. Those moments where my OCD was super rough, a particularly graphic thought striking and upsetting, and how I believed that I was cursed. What the town is doing to James, though fantastical, hits incredibly close to home regarding my sense of mental imprisonment.
As mentioned earlier, one of the grueling things about OCD is the game it plays with one’s mind; how it ensnares someone in a warped reality that bashes them with negativity, tricking them into believing that there is something wrong with them. I’ve gone on to meet numerous people in my life with similar OCD, and in no way shocking, not one of them has a violent bone in their body. But that hasn’t stopped the disorder from attacking them and pushing a false narrative onto them.
That idea that I was some horrid person, that I was capable of harming people, that I deserved punishment – it all consumed me. When I was a kid and my OCD was really bad, I had this tremendous fear that not only was I actually this disgusting person, but that I would be forever trapped in this mentality. Plagued by horribly violent and cruel visuals, destined to be aware of my sense of self, but to also feel that my sense of self was a lie.
In experiencing how the town of Silent Hill manipulates James, I feared that a similar horror may happen to my mind. Not that I would stumble into a cursed mystical town that would mess with me, but that I was not actually aware of my reality and would reach a point of mentally snapping; having to live in a spiral of denial, hiding myself from the freak I was. In the way that James hides from his actions, hides from who he is – and to see how Silent Hill punishes him for that – I was afraid that would happen to me with my OCD.
The town of Silent Hill and that of the OCD-ridden mind have quite a lot in common; their cold indifference seek to take over, to immerse a person in a terror in which they must navigate on their own. Because when I think about the dark streets and corridors that make up Silent Hill, when I think about the monsters that are tucked away, waiting behind corners for James to turn – I think about the loneliness of it all. The player and James left to confront his mind with no sense of comfort. And when I think about all that, I think about one of the shittiest thoughts that one might struggle with when it comes to mental illness – that at the very end of the day, when you’re awake at night, you’re all alone in your head – you’re all alone in your personal hell.
I’m in a much better place today, though, mental illness never completely goes away. At best, one learns ways to help them through life. In some quiet moments, I reflect on that isolating place OCD has put me in, the kind of place it can still bring me into from time to time. But when I also reflect on Silent Hill 2, rather than it triggering a great negativity out of me, I come to find a twisted sense of clarity.
In my younger years, with some exceptions, I went to horror for thrills. Some people do sports, I do slashers and demons. The darkness thrilled me and still thrills me to this day. It was very escapist, until I started to think more deeply into what some of that darkness meant.
As I’ve seen with myself and through others, horror has a means to heal. Through monsters, characters, and set pieces, horror has the means to touch upon subjects that may very much reflect our own reality. The losing of a loved one, the battling of addiction, the agony brought on by mental illness – the genre tackles these and so much more when it comes to the horrors that may take place in our lives. As an artist once told me some time ago, the fantastically grim can aid us in better processing life.
And that’s why for as much as I can find Silent Hill 2 depressing, it doesn’t break or scare me. I used to fear some bizarre reality where my mind would take over and trap me into living horrifying intrusive thoughts – where I am trapped in a reality where I believe I am some kind of monster. But, I know all of that is just a bunch of anxiety bullshit. I could have let OCD consume me – wrapping myself up in a world of panic and second-guessing – but I didn’t. When I think about Silent Hill 2, it actually proves to me how far I’ve come as a person. The rawness I’ve experienced from Silent Hill 2 has provided me with strength; strength to look deeper in myself, strength to go to loved ones, strength to ask for help.
There are very few video games that even come close to the nuanced psychological depth that Silent Hill 2 offers. In the cannon of psychological horror, Silent Hill 2 stands as one of the genre’s most significant and fascinating works. In revisiting Silent Hill 2, its atmosphere of despair grips me; its characters, particularly that of James, still unnerve me. For me, it’s so much more than a brilliant video game – it’s true horror. Horror I can feel – horror that, to some degree, I can relate too.
Personally speaking, when living with mental illness, one may sometimes feel they are destined to be doomed. That there is no way out of one’s hell. Silent Hill 2 very much leans into this pessimistic side of things – but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Ironically, Silent Hill 2 makes me feel seen and aware of my being. I love how far down into the darkness the game goes; how willing it is to guide the player into such haunting, intimate terrain. This game is one of those works that makes me feel alive. To me, it is horror that heals.
Silent Hill will always be my special place.