Spoiler Warning: There are minor spoilers for Mass Effect 2 and Heavy Rain contained in this article.

I was the savior of the universe and I had caught the Origami killer, but all I could think about was how disappointed I was that no one died. In videogames, we’re meant to succeed, save the world, and live happily ever after, but lately, I’ve found that being the flawless hero has left me envious of those who have stumbled along the way.

In Heavy Rain, as I drove down the wrong side of the highway dodging traffic trying to save my son, who had been kidnapped by the Origami Killer, my heart raced. I could only play for about an hour a sitting because the game was stressful. I was worried at almost every moment that a misstep would result in the death of someone I cared about.

The choices you make in Heavy Rain change the outcome of the story. Just because a main character dies doesn’t mean you get to go to a game over screen and hit retry. Death is permanent, and the story moves on without that character. This extra burden of life I carried made me try for perfection at every moment. When I was playing, I didn’t like people talking to me. I didn’t snack or sit comfortably slouched on the couch–I was a bit intense. No one was dying on my watch.

The moment I finished Heavy Rain, I called up my friend. That entire week he had been sending me text after text asking me if I had finished the game. The ending was “heavy” according to him, and he wanted to discuss it. I told him, “I beat Heavy Rain,” and he replied with an anticipated,” So…what did you think?” “I liked it,” I said before letting out a sigh, “but no one died.” For the next several minutes, I listened with envy as he told me how Heavy Rain had played out for him. There was death, sadness, triumph—everything a good story needs. I had gotten the Hollywood ending, and I was jealous of my friend because of it. He told me that this was a game he would never forget, and if I had experienced what he had, I’d probably agree with him.

While the stress in Mass Effect 2 wasn’t as constant, I was preparing for what the game literally called a “suicide mission.” I was Commander Shepard and if I didn’t do something, the universe was going to end. BioWare, the game’s creator, even announced that it was possible for Commander Shepard to die if you didn’t make the right choices. This activated my completionist mentality. I finished every quest, I recruited every team member, and I mined for enough minerals to upgrade every piece of equipment I had. I was going in as ready as I could be. If there was a way to win a suicide mission, I was going to do it.

In the end, I escaped the suicide mission with barely a scratch. Mass Effect 2’s ending left me with a very similar feeling to the one I had with Heavy Rain. I saw where things could have gone bad, but I didn’t let that happen. I wanted to win; Mom didn’t raise a loser. The same friend I had mentioned earlier has less spare time than I do, so he did not spend countless hours preparing for the worst. Again, he was met with some tragedy, which made his ending to Mass Effect 2 bittersweet but memorable.

Since I’ve been playing games, the purpose has always been to beat them. If you want to see the end credits, you don’t die. If you want the high score, you try and live as long as possible. If anything bad ever happens that is under my control it is because I failed, and failing is the opposite of what I’ve been told to do in games and in life.

After 23 years of being told failure leads to disappointment, I have run into two moments this year where being a bit less Type A would have made my gaming experience better. Hearing my friend gush over his endings to both Heavy Rain and Mass Effect 2 made me wish I had given less than 110 percent. It may be that the games themselves failed to deliver satisfying happy endings, but all I know is I was envious of tragedy I didn’t get. While games are thought to be in their infancy as a medium, it is interesting to see them elicit a response from me that I had never had before; disappointment in my success.