I bought Animal Crossing to improve my mental health – it did the opposite

It was the height of the pandemic and, owing to the fact I was living alone and confined to my one-bedroom flat 23 hours a day, I was starting to catch cabin fever. My mood had shifted significantly and FaceTime fatigue had well and truly set in. And so, I bought myself a Nintendo Switch Lite from my local Currys, in the hope that it would improve things. Or distract me, at the very least.

It was one of the coral pink ones. I mention this because I was awfully smug when, just a few days later, they became a rarity and extremely hard to come by. “Aha!” I thought. “I’m ahead of the curve.” (I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check the resale value before taking it out of its box).

But I wasn’t such a trend-setter when it came to my game of choice. As part of a bundle, the handheld console came with Animal Crossing: New Horizons – a so-called “cosy game” that was widely hailed as the antidote to all human suffering and mental health afflictions (I exaggerate).

"It's so soothing", a gamer friend told me. "You'll absolutely love it!"

Developed and published by Nintendo, Animal Crossing was purported to be a warm hug of a game. The social simulation, which became synonymous with lockdowns, allows you to create an island sanctuary, interact with fellow villagers and do the odd bit of gardening and fishing, should you wish. Sounds blissful, right?

To my disappointment, though, it wasn't quite the Sims-style set-up I'd hoped it would be – nor did it make me feel better. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect.

Image shows characters such as Isabelle and Tom Nook from Animal Crossing: New Horizons

For starters, there was no rosebud cheat to increase my bank balance and no easy way to kit my home out with nice rugs and plants. Rather, I had to slowly chip away (quite literally by cutting down trees), befriending my brash neighbours and, well, being Tom Nook's personal slave, before I could even begin to start decorating my island home.

Yes, I have a good work ethic and yes, I understand the importance of perseverance. But when, at the time, the outside world was so hard going and bleak, what I really wanted was for this game to be some light relief – not an additional slog.

But that wasn't the worst of it. As things started to gradually open up here in the UK, I peeled myself off my couch and began to interact with real humans again, only sporadically returning to the game when the mood struck me. Instead of being greeted by my digital woodland pals, however, I was rebuked, ignored, ghosted. I practically had to start from scratch with those relationships I had spent months building up.

Phoebe, a particularly jarring ostrich neighbour, began frantically running around the island in a tizz, and whenever I stopped to chat to her, she’d be super passive-aggressive, pretending she didn’t know who I was and acting surprised to see me after so long. “Oh!” She’d say. “Haven't seen you in a while.”

The aforementioned Tom Nook, who runs the island store and oversees the Resident Services, became even more of a megalomaniac, getting me straight to work on yet more renovations and extensions for new islanders who had arrived. I could tell he relished the power.

Tank the rhino was pretty much the only one who didn’t take issue with my brief absence (likely because he wasn’t as sharp as his horn).

I came away from the game feeling like a huge flake – a let-down with no loyalty. Never mind the months I spent building the island for everyone. Never mind the incessant chatter I had listened to every day. I was outcast after just two days off.

It was at that point I decided to quit. I removed the disc and switched it up for The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. And I’ve never looked back.