November 2018

Hello Dear Blog. This is a filler post for November. I'm sorry I've had to resort to these, but I'm trying my best to better my life. and it's really taking its toll on me, both mentally and, as I'm learning to be proud of saying, physically as well. Not to mention, writing about my problems always seems like scooping up hot coal with my bare hands. I'm also slowly learning to be kinder to myself, and recognising bad habits and thinking patterns. A part of me doesn't want to do this to myself anymore. What this means for this blog and my hobby for writing, I'm not quite sure. It's not like I ever had a plan or a vision for the future; the present is always too overwhelming.

I... have always felt so tired. So overwhelmed. So at my limit, even if nothing out of the ordinary is happening in my life. Is this just what it means to grow up and be an adult? Or is it still my mental health issues taking their toll on me? Perhaps a physical health condition I don't yet know about? Who knows? The only certainty seems to be that everything is a blur.

Sometimes I think I'm so special. Sometimes I really do believe that each of us human beings are so unique and so special, each with their own untold stories, unseen struggles, and unique thought patterns each with compelling merits. I really do think it's a crying shame that writing as a hobby, especially journaling about ourselves, is such a niché hobby. Sometimes I find it just a tad silly that we're spending so much money chasing fantasy stories when equally compelling ones are all around us, or even within ourselves. I wonder what an interesting, more understanding, more compassionate, more intimate, more accepting world it'd be if we all could know and appreciate the stories of each other.

But right now, I feel as if... so what if I'm special, you know? If everyone is special, then no one's special, isn't it? So what if I'm struggling, so what if I'm suffering? So's everyone else. Who am I then, to ask for help? To want a listening ear? Especially when I've nothing to give in return to anyone. I feel more and more like a burden that should just shut up and "tough it out", the more annoyed reactions I get, the more sanctimonious preachings I receive, and the more evident it becomes that, ultimately, my life is in my hands. Mine and mine alone.

So what if my story joins the countless others that went untold, right? Is there value to this suffering? is there merit in this story, especially given my inability to tell it well? I'm starting to think, no.

ACS 16-8-18: l 0 n e l I n e s s

I suppose it's just my loneliness dictating my actions. After all, when it all boils down, the whole reason why I blog is for self expression, isn't it? As I'm slowly becoming more and more aware, I am facing a huge loneliness problem. It's the strangest feeling in the world, dear blog. Strange that I am surrounded by friends and family that say without hesitation that they love me and that they'll be there for me whatever happens, that unflinchingly say they understand me the best, and yet... I feel so alone. I am not alone but I feel so alone. Paradoxical, I know. Almost like girls who wear XS garments thinking they're fat... ahah. Whoops.

As I've mentioned the umpteenth time by now, I super enjoy talking to my psychotherapist, -. I think it took a combination of having been friends with Cypy, watching her change, cutting her from my life, and then having - to talk to that I see more clearly what it is I feel lacking in my life.

I just... want to talk.

Perhaps it's my hateful perfectionism acting up again, but I feel as if no one around me really offers the catharsis, the solace of a listening ear, the open mindedness, and that... intangible yet wholly palpable feeling of emotional investment I get from talking to a psychotherapist. From an uneducated ape's standpoint like mine, it's magical how - hits all the right buttons in me, without me even realising it. It's like... all I can say is... that she knows when to shut up and listen, and she knows when to speak, and what to say, all while being to... genuine, you know? Her spontaneous laughter, her giggles, her soft kind words, they all stick to me in my memory.

It's difficult, I know, to find someone whom can emotionally massage you as well as a trained psychotherapist. And maybe I'm just being narrow minded, because my friends aren't nearly as awful as my family when it comes to how they make me feel when I share my woes with them. I suppose there's also an associated guilt with talking to them, because we're all grown ass adults now, each of us ought to have our own problems, our own doubts, and our own adult responsibilities to tend to. YS is a workaholic as usual - he works himself to the bone at the detriment of his health even without me bugging him, and even the carefree JJ is becoming like that in spite of how it's not in his personality to be a workaholic. TKJ... well... he's not good with this kind of "soft" topics, I think. He's struggling with his own depression, he has severe family issues at home, and I've never seen him show his vulnerable side, being the proud man that he is, even when he lost his father. I don't really have a good word for it, but I feel he's way too "hard" for me to really talk to him.

Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike any of them, nor am I saying that I don't enjoy my time with them. What I'm saying is that... I feel perhaps, that I always feel guilty taking up the time of others to talk, and that I don't really have anyone I can be vulnerable with. That I don't have anyone to share my deepest thoughts, my most intense feelings, my most nauseating insecurities, and my everyday struggles with. Either I'll feel guilty for imposing on my friends, or I'll get cut off and have voices raised at me, or people won't even be interested at all to begin with. Or any of the mix of the above.

I wonder if I'm going insane, or if I'm just too perceptive for my own good. Maybe it's just a sign of the times, a sign of what we as a society has become, has deemed to be the most beneficial and conducive to life as a whole. Maybe historians hundreds, if not thousands of years later may chance upon this and be like "welp, he called it". I get whack ass fantasies like that in my head sometimes, haha. But, at this point, it almost feels like I need to pay a pretty, kindhearted lady to listen to me for an hour to really feel like I got something off my chest, like I've any hope of emotionally connecting with someone, never mind that I really shouldn't be staking all my hopes and expectations on a married, hired for help woman. It's just what it seems to have come to, for me. I feel like I'm lonely and desperate enough to be that type of 50 year old rich single uncles who can afford to sugar daddy girls going through college. Except I'm 24 and I don't even know if I'll have enough money in the bank for my next meal transaction.

It's... sad. I feel a rather dark cloud hovering over me and I don't know what I can do but to suck it up and accept it. I tried searching for "personal blogs", "personal writing", "depression stories", etc., on Google not too long ago, and all I can seem to find are templates, articles on the pros and cons, tips and tricks on how to make money off blogs, and everything in between, but actual personal writing like what I'm doing. I start to find that, even on Facebook, my friends have, before I realised it, stopped expressing themselves in their own words entirely. Nowadays it's all selfies, wefies, food, travel photos, or "share this for a chance to win xxx" types of posts. Nothing about how their days were, nothing about what their lives are becoming, nothing about their tastes, personal preferences, hobbies... and, well, I don't really blame them. Maybe our lives really are that boring. Maybe people don't expect as much as I do from life, nor do they ask so many philosophical questions that don't have a clear cut, simple, definitive answer like we're taught we need to answer every question in school. Maybe self expression in this day and age is just career suicide, with how easily searchable everything and everyone is.

Almost makes me miss the days when people would berate my behaviour with "everyone needs friends to survive!", and "no one man is an island!"

It's why I write, I guess. I mean, aside from this whole "maybe I'm onto something and my text will prove useful to someone somewhere" fantasy. I hope I can find others like me who share, so I'll feel less alone. Maybe because I've no one to really talk to.

I know I'm not alone, but I feel so alone. And, you know, maybe it's not entirely fair to just point fingers and lay the blame on something so vague like society. I know if I said that I'm lonely, someone please talk to me, on Facebook, I know I'll get a few responses. I know some people will put in the effort. But, in the same vein, I also know that I'll just clam up and give short, simple, curt, conversation ending answers. I'll never be able to expose myself to them like I do here. Part of it is because I "know" I'm a very long winded person who can't express himself without a thousand words in writing, and "ain't nobody got time for dat". I know the things I'm interested in, the things I care about, my opinions and my viewpoints are of the unpopular minority, and not everybody in this strawberry generation knows how to handle that. And so over time, it's been a lifelong lesson that I just shut the fuck up, because why bother, right?

It's... also because of the whole debacle with codad that I've yet to be able to make any friends on my own. It's the main reason why I strongly suspect I've PTSD from it, and it's something I've already told - I want to work on together with her.

I wonder if there's a cure for loneliness, or, if like eczema, I'm just going to have to live with it for the rest of my life.

ACS 10-5-16: Dodging Adulthood

LiSA - Rain Song
Lyrics and Arrangement by Maeda Jun

いつだって泣かせては君を困らせてた
そんな君も大きくなり遠くへ行くって話
聞いてない! 唐突の雨だ
傘もなく立ち尽くす

I've always caused you trouble and made you cry

I heard that you, too, is growing up and going far away

I didn't hear that! In the sudden rain,

I stand still without even an umbrella

いつでもふたりで居るって言ってくれたよね たしか
覚えてたのはあたしひとりだったのかな
君と見た星忘れて 君と見た夢忘れて
別々の道を進むなんてイヤだ

I remember you saying that we'd be together forever

Perhaps I'm the only one who remembers it

Forgetting the stars and dreams that I've seen with you

Somehow, I don't want to go our separate ways

もしかして誕生日のプレゼントのことかな
似合わない そう言って笑うから失くした
見つけ出す! あれはどこだ?
雨は勢いを増す

Is it perhaps the incident regarding the birthday present?

"It doesn't suit me", I said, laughed, and then lost it

I'll find it! Eh, where is it?

The rain continues to grow heavier

どうして君だったんだろ イジワルしてばっかだった
思い出せるのは情けない顔ばっかり
君と見た映画忘れて 君の匂いも忘れて
別の誰かと生きるなんてイヤだ

Why did it have to be you, the you that I bullied so much?

When I think about you, all that comes to mind is your pitiful looking face

Forgetting the movies I saw with you, forgetting too your smell

Somehow, I don't want to live life with someone else not you

初めて会った日を思い出す
公園の木に隠れてた君
それをつついて追い出してみた
大雨が降ってたのに

Remembering the day I met you for the first time

The you that was taking shelter under the tree in the park

I tried poking you and chasing you out

Despite the heavy rain that was falling then

時は過ぎ 今はあたしが
雨の中 泣いている

Time passes, and now I'm

Crying in the rain

あんなに好きだったのに本当に好きだったのに
君以外の人はどうでもよかったのに
どうしてその君だけがいなくなっちゃうんだろう
頭がおかしくなりそうだ もう
雨は強く打ちつける 体の芯まで冷える
公園の木にぶつかり 君のように泣いた
君がいたこと忘れて 君とした恋も忘れて
君の代わりに泣くのはもうイヤだ…

Even though I loved you so much, even though I really loved you

Even though anyone else could do

Why is the you I loved so much the only one who's going to be gone?

I think I'm going crazy over it

The heavy rain beats against me, and my body is freezing to the core

Hitting the tree in the park, I cried just like you

Forgetting that you were here, forgetting the love that we had

I don't want to cry in your stead anymore...

--------------------------------------------------------------------

(English translation by me with a lot of help from Google Translate, take it with a pinch of salt)

Oh, Maeda Jun, you. He's pretty much the "feels factory" as far as I'm concerned, not just in terms of anime, but in everything. I had a conversation once with an ex colleague, and we both came to the conclusion that, instead of those CAPTCHAs to prove that you're human, you could just show them the whole Clannad run, and if they don't cry, they're not human.

Anyway, this song is a song by the fictional band in Angel Beats!, and even though it doesn't make an appearance in the actual show, I love this song a hell of a lot, even if LiSA doesn't really capture the emotions of this song, and wasn't that good a singer in her early singing days.

I know the lyrics might seem weird to some English speaking folk out there, but I like to as directly translate Japanese as possible, which means the English end result tends to look wonky. But I love the lyrics to this song because it really speaks very strongly about the character of the singer, very strongly about the very special kind of relationship they had, and most importantly, a very strong sense of regret. I think it challenges the concept of love that most people would conjure up in their head when talking about love, as I think the singer has a very weird, yet very strong appreciation for the person that they're missing. But of course, it's not difficult to see why the loved party would leave someone like that, as well, be it intentionally or otherwise. In fact, it's pretty much expected, the way things had been going. And that's where the big shock comes in for the singer of this song, because everything was going so well, everything was going so happily that it makes it ten times more difficult to come to terms with the fact that the person they loved is not going to be with them for much longer. But at the same time, the fact that the person the singer loved so much stuck with them for so long, through all that apparent bullying, made the person the singer loved all that more special, because they stuck with the singer through presumably years, long enough to do some "normal" things like watching movies together and just stargazing, through all that... that undoubtedly makes this bullied person all the more special to the singer, because they stuck with the singer through all that, when the average person would've walked away at first sight of the singer.

So, why do I bring this up? I bring this song up because, right now, I feel, moreso than ever before, I could relate very strongly to this song.

I think that I, just like a kid that doesn't want to admit that he was in the wrong, doesn't want to admit that he has yet to grow up like everyone else around him has.

For the longest time, I've always blamed others when things don't go the way I want them to, especially when it comes to love and relationships. I think things like, "they're all insensitive bitches!", "they don't know how to appreciate me!", "All women want in a man are just looks and money, not love!", and, most recently, "They're so immature!"

It's only after having gone out for dinner with - and - again that I've had someone else point out my flaws to me, like how I don't ever dress up for anything, how I don't want higher education after this, and, well, basically being a good for nothing.

I've this bad habit of just angrily rejecting criticism as my knee jerk reaction to them, and as a result I just thought, "what a materialistic bitch, wanting this and that from me" at the time. And if it were anybody else saying those things to me, that'd have been the end of that. But because it came from someone I was in love with before, it actually stung, and continued stinging long enough for me to put down my walls for a second and examine what she said in more detail, in hopes that I can ease the pain a little.

And once I thought about it, I feel kinda stupid. I mean, of course women want guys to look good. Hell, I'm the most superficial asshole I know, who am I to blame others for being superficial themselves? And, of course, women want a husband that can bring them a sense of security, and what better way to do that than to have good qualifications and a stable, high paying job?

By saying that I don't see the point in dressing up, or getting higher education, I suppose that in effect says that I don't want to compete in the "market" of getting a girlfriend. Doesn't that mean that I haven't a right to complain that no one wants me, no one can see my good qualities, and not being able to appreciate me?

I think I know what it means to grow up. It's just that, I don't necessarily want to. I know it sounds like an incredibly bratty thing to say, and it probably sounds a hell of a lot worse when I combine that with bitching about how nobody wants me. But the reason why I say I don't want to grow up is because I think I've seen and know what it takes to be a "successful" adult, and it not only scares me, it's heavily repulsive and goes against almost every moral code in me. To be a two, maybe even three or four faced person, to be a useless fuck at your core, knowing only to talk big with no regard to those under you, to know how to lie and bluff your way out of situations with your superiors, to know how to make it look like you're doing a good job when the only effort and pride you put into your job is to cover up the trails of your own laziness, to value your promotions and progress on the corporate ladder more than anything else, and to pretend that you're a half decent human being on top of all that.

If that's what it means to grow up, be successful, and appease women, fuck it; I'd rather die alone.

Of course, I might have that kind of perception of the adult working world because of what I see in the organisation I currently slave away for. MAYBE the real, outside world isn't really as fucked up as what I'm seeing now, but if everyone who cares for me is to be believed, then the outside world is just like that as well. (Spoiler alert: it's just as bad - Me from 2018)

Why the hell would I want to pay an exorbitant amount of money to go into a school to prepare me to be "successful" in such a fucked up environment? Why would I want to pay an exorbitant amount of money to go into a fucked up environment to further waste four years of my life, achieving absolutely nothing in the process, to get myself fucked up enough so that I can excel in the bona fide fucked up environment to pay off the student loan that I'll inevitably have to take to get into the fucked up environment that is school to begin with?

Sorry, it makes no sense to me.

I'm the type of person that most enjoys being creative, doing things my myself, and being able to see the fruits of my labour. And if that means getting a low wage job that gets oil on my hands, then so be it. If it means I'm not pretty then so be it.

I chided - for not having "grown up" enough, and that she's still a child, hence why I could never see her as girlfriend material until she "grows up".

But what does it mean to "grow up"?

I think growing up just means conforming to what society wants of you, to be honest. I mean, you essentially change your mindset and way of doing things to coexist with others, and make a living amongst other people. Those that aren't subject to this, like teen pop stars, end up as "spoiled brats", and we chide them for being kids and spoiled brats.

Of course, conforming to what the society wants of you means that, depending on where you do your "growing up", what you "grow up" into is different. Being aggressive and getting what you want mercilessly for example, could work in America, but in Japan that'd just be too blunt and rude, even if human beings are just ugly pieces of shit in their cores no matter where you go. I know that this is a very vague example, but I don't exactly have the globe trotting experiences to really flush this out with a compelling argument, so bear with me here.

That being said, how does that principle apply to being "grown up" when it comes to relationships? What mindset are we talking about when we say that someone has a really "mature" way of thinking when it comes to relationships? Who are the proverbial "pop stars" of relationships, and do they need to "grow up"?

I think you can already see where this is going. Point is, expecting someone to "grow up" and "be more mature" is just a high and mighty way of saying, "be more like me, damnit". And I think that's cruel. Everybody should have a right to be who they are and who they want to be. If you truly loved a person for who they are, why would you want them to change?


Wishing for someone to be more mature in their way of thinking when it comes to relationship is unfair, I think, because everybody's different life experiences and environments mould them into becoming different and unique people. It's like wishing that pop stars wouldn't be so... silly. they're never gonna change because being an asshole is what has worked out for them in life; askingthem to suddenly change and not do these stupid things just wouldn't make much logical sense. The people who like -, for example, but wish he'd change, or lie to themselves that he isn't so horrible, doesn't love him; they love the image of him they've built in their heads.

Similarly, if being materialistic and going for looks is what has worked for -, if seeking playboys, the "bad guys" give her the most happiness, security, or whatever it may be that she gets out of those relationships, then, well, who am I to tell her how to be happy?

*sigh* I know I just said it was an incredibly cruel thing to say, but I wish she'd grow up more, too.

Kiwami

Finger Eleven - Slow Chemical

The wonder of the world is gone
I know for sure
All the wonder that I want
I've found in her
As the whole becomes a part
I strike to burn
And no flame returns

Every intuition fails to find its way
One more table turned around and back again
Finding I'm more lost than found
When she's not around
When she's not around
I feel it coming down

Give me what I could never ask for
Connect me and you could be my chemical now
Give me the drug you know I'm after
Connect me and you could be my chemical

When everybody wants you
(The chemical comes slow)
When everybody wants you
(The chemical comes slow)
And everybody wants you
(Slow)
And everybody wants you

So give me what I could never ask for
Connect me and you could be the chemical, now
Give me the drug you know I'm after
Connect me and you could be the chemical

You could be the chemical

***************************************

Okay, so here's my customary ramble tangent to ward off people with short attention spans before I open a very bitter can of worms: Today is August 28th, 2018. It's the second anniversary of my release from slavery, but more crucially, it's the Western release date of Yakuza Kiwami 2, which features the return of the heartthrob couple from Yakuza 0: Majima Goro and Makimura Makoto! With how downright awfully the main protagonist Kiryu Kazuma's storyline and character has aged, I'm actually buying this game only for the newer, cinematically breathtaking and thought provoking story written for Majima and Makimura. How do I know it's gonna be that good? Blind faith from having experienced what I consider to be a modern masterpiece, Yakuza 0. Also because new content in Yakuza Kiwami 1 pertaining to Nishiki was just so gasp drawingly tragic and beautiful... I honestly believe that if you at all consider yourself a fan of games, Japanese culture, or just storytelling in general, you'd be doing yourself a serious disservice if you don't at least watch a playthrough of Yakuza 0.

Disclaimer: the fact that 0 features an extensive list of real life Japanese porn stars, some of whom are my firm favourites, and some of whom I became a fan of after seeing them in 0, is in no way related to my bias towards Yakuza 0. (But seriously Uehara Ai is so ridiculously good at everything she does, between voice acting and AV stuff, I'm surprised Japan didn't declare a national holiday to grieve her retirement. Oh and Ootsuki Hibiki might be a woman I love more to sit and talk to than watching her getting ploughed I mean not that she's BAD at ploughing or being ploughed but she's such a lovable personality even outside of a studio you know? She's one of those women that could be and do anything in life and be loved for it, but somehow chose to be an AV star. Also how the FUCK is Tsubomi not in any game yet?!)

So anyway, in my anxious haste to get and play the game, I've arrived way too early at a shopping mall to buy the game, and now I'm forced to sit on my ass and pass time somehow, and with mobile games being as toxic as they are I... have nothing else to do but write.

That song, Slow Chemical, came on shuffle play on my long ass walk to Waterway Point. It's a song I suddenly fell in love with all over again as a grown ass adult who thinks he's seen his fair share of shit, because it suddenly becomes all so relatable. As a kid watching wrestling, I've always liked this song on a surface level, but it's only now that the song really seems to have opened its doors to me and shown me what it truly is.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I tend to associate most tracks in my playlist with certain things or certain people. Moreso than the wrestler Kane, as big a fan of his as I am, this song reminds me most about Cypy, because I vividly remember the lyrics of this song running through my head around this time last year, when my anxiety and depression were at their worst. I felt super needy, super dependent on her company and making me feel better, because at the time she really did feel like the last viable source of happiness, and in turn, hope, to me. When going to meet her I felt unparalleled energy, zest and vigor about life, and just the thought of her could motivate me to push through physical and mental pain at work. She... meant a lot to me, as I hope should be abundantly clear by now.

With everything in my life falling apart, and me feeling like I never had any control over it, I always knew on some levels I was going insane, that something was terribly, terribly wrong with my psyche, mental state and thought patterns. Yet it was nigh impossible to find proof to challenge those thought patterns and beliefs, which really set those thoughts and beliefs into stone. I started to get thoughts on how I seem to be the only one thinking rationally, and the world is going insane, and along with it, Cypy. But that's signature crazy talk, isn't it? After all, what IS insanity? Is it just things that don't make sense to you, an individual, subjective human being? Or is insanity defined by being the odd one out in the whole world that determines what normal is?

In that state of desperate puzzlement, I had to resort to a lot of coping habits that made as little sense as the world itself, that the world provides me, such as drugs and alcohol. After all, how the hell are drugs to magically make my problems, thoughts, beliefs and trauma go away, like everybody makes them out to be, from friends to psychiatrists? Why would people willingly spend ludicrous amounts of money to intoxicate themselves, to lose control of their own body and mind, to reek and potentially harm themselves and others as a rite of passage in negotiating business deals? Yet the world churns on with drugs and alcohol inextricably interwoven into its structure, and, to the 22 year old me at my first job, that's just what becoming a responsible adult that can put food on the table meant: going along with the insanity. Never mind that there was a very strong and persistent voice in my head that kept protesting that this can't be right; that voice sounded like that of a naïve child to me, unwilling to toughen up and grow up to be a "real man" and "suck it up", as slavery so loves to resort to saying. Yep, I'm gonna blame the mandatory slavery experience for imparting toxic, impractical thinking habits and beliefs and you can suck one. Your thumb, that is. After all, 2 years is a hell of a long time, and not just any two years of my life, either. It was my first real taste of society fresh out of school, and being imprisoned by a culture for two years... I don't care who you are, it's gonna rub off on you to some extent.

So, in that state where hope, happiness and coping in a bleak and desolate world meant blotting out large chunks of it you don't like with drugs and alcohol, that's just how I pigeon holed romantic love as well.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again because it bears repeating: helplessly, knowingly watching yourself go insane is one of the scariest things you can experience in life. There will always be too many causes to pinpoint, there's no evidence to support you, and every evidence against you, and so at every turn all your values and beliefs feel vengefully invalidated and ridiculed at every turn of life. I was afraid of myself, afraid of the world, and afraid of what I might find in both should I look deep and long enough into either. And so, even though it wasn't what I wanted out of a woman, out of a relationship, out of myself, even, treating the woman I loved as a supply, a paid commodity, akin to that of drugs and alcohol, to blot out and erase all the darkness and unhappiness of my life, is what I wound up unknowingly doing. At my worst, I even forced myself onto her, hugging her from behind even though she really didn't want to be hugged. In hindsight, I still don't know what the hell came over me at the time. Everything is just a blur of things I don't want to remember, of emotions I don't want to experience again. I know it's no justification for what I've done, and me saying that isn't meant to be any justification. I'm saying all this in attempt to own my mistakes and flaws, so that I may make peace with my past.

Of course, the difference between drugs and alcohol and a real life woman is that a real life woman, even the most materialistic ones, can reject you. They have their own lives, their own struggles, their own needs and their own preferences. Cypy was struggling immensely with her final year of university at that point in time, with the workload and stress driving her to never before seen levels of irritability, and her outbursts thus became more common and more hurtful. It was just an awful, awful time for us both, and I suppose both of our suffering was so immense it left us no capacity to see, or at least care, about the needs of others.

I knew it too at the time. That her snappy, angry remarks and condescending attitude was only temporary. I told myself that her recklessly throwing herself whole into her job, her task, and even in love was something I loved about her. Yet at the same time, no wise words have ever stopped a bleeding, has it? I needed happiness, I needed hope. I needed someone to be there for me, to talk to me, to reassure me that I'm wanted and loved, that I matter. That I'm not insane, and worth saving. So, yes, occasionally I'd ask for dinners together, and talks at her void deck in the dead of night. But honestly I think even just the ability to tell her "good morning", and get a simple response each time would've been enough. But everything was so strained between us that even that became difficult; so much so that I'd physically shake with my phone barely in my hands at the mere thought of texting her, in spite of how badly I needed my drug that is her. The angrier she got at me, the more worried/ angrier I got towards her as well. The longer we went without meeting each other, the more it felt to me like she owed that debt of friendship to me. From there it just slowly degraded into classic, toxic relationship signs, such as passive aggression, withholding emotions and communication, counting and storing upsetting events as future ammo, gossip, badmouthing, etc..

Of course, I can't definitively tell you what the heck went on in her head at the time, given how little we talked, so I can only give you my side of the coin. I started to hold grudges and do "petty statistics", like checking when the hell was the last time she ever initiated a conversation with me, without her explicitly telling me, "buy this for me for my birthday". Then I did a cold shoulder experiment where I went a few months without texting her, to see if she would notice anything wrong with me, as I know she's so uncannily adept at doing even through text. Then I got angry every time I unlocked my phone and saw no new messages, especially when I needed her the most in reslavery, where I was physically falling apart and mentally about to explode, and used my phone for some fifteen minutes a day. Not even a "hey, what's up"? Not even a "are you okay"? For all I did for you, all the time and money I put into you, for how emotionally invested I am into you, this is what I get in return? I was nothing short of livid. Again, I knew it even back then. I was watching myself go insane through a silver screen, powerless to do anything to alter the hateful plot. It felt like the only thing to do, it felt so right and so justified, even if I knew it was unhealthy and, quite frankly, stupid.

I said I loved how hard she works for what she wants, be it at a job, or in a relationship. When she was in Uni I could "suck it up", telling myself it was "only two years". But by that time she had already started work, and showed no sign of changing. All alone, I felt so thrown away, so useless, so played, so taken advantage of, and so stupid for investing so much into a woman who would never see me as anything more than a friend, if even that. I honestly felt so indebted to her and her friendship towards me that I could spend the rest of however long I've left on this earth taking care of her, and never be able to repay her for all that she's done for me in the ten years we've known each other. I feel the most natural and relaxed around her, and we share such a deep familiarity and sense of security with each other we can talk about crude and embarrassing topics, from porn, to periods, bra sizes, masturbation, awful bosses, eccentric family members... anything. I don't at all hesitate to say that she has had a huge hand in helping me become an adult, being the business student that she was, teaching me how to write resumes, finding part time jobs together, picking out clothes for me, at times telling me how the world works, what I want out of a woman, out of a relationship... Goddamnit she meant the world to me. But, what my cold shoulder experiment proved to me was that, for as much as she meant to me, I never meant a fraction of that to her. While I was struggling with anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, binge drinking... every moment felt like it could've been my last. And what cut the most deeply was the thought that this, all this, my entire fucking life, meant less to her than some superficial piece of paper crap that is a degree. And it's not like she can't emphatise, either; last I heard she still struggles with anxiety herself and takes meds for them, so don't give me that bullshit of "you can't expect everybody to know what it's like". She knows it full well and consciously chose to blow me off.

She... changed. Even if I know it was unhealthy and stupid, even to this day I think I learned something invaluable from my cold shoulder charade. With a clear(er) head now, I can tell you, or anyone else for that matter, that I don't regret my decision to henceforth cut her off from my life entirely. I learnt to prioritise my own happiness, my own needs, my own sanity, above that of anyone else's, even that of someone I could at one point in my life swore till death does us part. I mean, how hypocritical would it be of me, to try to force my own brand, my own idea of happiness, down the throats of someone else, when I myself am not happy? What do I know of what happiness is or should be? Who am I to decide for others what happiness is to each individual? I'm still learning to not blame myself for how sourly things ended, in spite of all the voices in my head screaming at me how I may never find a woman as special as her in my life again, given my looks and personality. The voices in my head that scorns me for not being able to make her happy because of my nonexistent financial means.

I don't regret cutting her from my life because, akin to trying to hold a crumbling sandcastle together with bare hands, I was trying to hold together something that was just never going to work, and perhaps she, business student and all, was just too "polite" to not want to say it to me straight. It was only after cutting her from my life, not having to deal with her bullshit, her abuse, and my own expectations of her, that I started to have some semblance of foundation for inner peace. A relationship is always a two-way street; common sense should tell anyone as much. I never felt the same reciprocation from her in spite how how increasingly desperate I had been becoming, and in turn, how increasingly harder I tried. If common sense should tell anyone that any relationship is a two-way street, that same common sense should also tell anyone that love is built with acceptance, understanding, sacrifice, and hard work. I took that to the extremes, and started to go into the region of having to make excuses for her in my head to hold that sandcastle together. I started to go into the region of driving myself up the damn wall with insanity in the name of ideals and love. And the moment it felt like I could've died for someone who wouldn't give my corpse a second glance, that was when everything snapped together and made sense to me, and what I had to do became clear to me.

What even was the point of me trying so hard anymore? Evidently you can live happily without me. If I have to legitimately feel like taking my own life to guilt trip you into meeting me for a meal, what even is the point anymore? If I rank below JK on your friends list, if I have to go through JK first to be next in line for a meal with you then you evidently don't need me very much at all, do you? You're right. I'm a fucking idiot. For trying so hard. For thinking it could work. For thinking that I could see you as just a friend. For thinking that your change was only temporary. For thinking that I could "wake up your idea". For thinking that I knew the "real you" wasn't like this. I am a fucking idiot. And you're right: I do deserve better. I do deserve to feel better. I do deserve better than you.

It might sound like I'm extremely angry towards her, and I am; make no mistake about it. Yet at the same time, because I'm an emotional wussy, I still carry the weight of the guilt and blame for the whole shebang, and I think of her at least once every day. Yeah, I feel that she's changed immensely in the ten years I've known her. Sure, she could've been a hell of a lot nicer towards me. But over the last year or so, I'm slowly learning how to better myself, and in doing so, I think I've come to pinpoint what went wrong. As I've said, relationships are always a two-way street. As such, there's almost never an instance where one party is the absolute angel and the other is an asshole on whom all blame can be pinned. That's... just my really roundabout way of saying... I done fucked up as well. I was the one who laid all these asinine expectations onto her. I already have a problem of holding people to too high a standard in any setting, so could you imagine how god-awful being my wife must be? Here I am, staking an entire lifetime worth of happiness on her and heaping all my visions and expectations of my ideal wife onto an innocent woman who evidently didn't feel much for me in the end. And, yeah, I could've been more civil and communicative about wanting to end the friendship we had, but...

pshhhh, you know?

Whys it matter? She evidently is happy without me. And, as I found out when the song came on shuffle play during that walk, I am evidently a better person, with some budding inner peace within me, without her. The screaming in the song... I used to scream alongside the song in my head, but now I'm happy to say that... the screaming, has stopped.

I may not yet know what it means to be happy in life, to be happy with life, but it sure felt like I headed in the right direction with amputating her from my life. And so, with that being the case, whys it matter if what I did was right or wrong? This world is subjective and insane. It changes, so fast. Too fast. It took a woman I loved and changed her into a monster. Whys it matter if what I did was right or wrong, to one or two persons, at one point in time? It's not like I'm trying to write a romance novel. Long as you're happy, long as I'm happy, who cares about right and wrong anymore?

That's just my roundabout, polite way of saying, I'm gone. I'm done. Forever. I've given up. I'm broken, and it may be a long, long time before I can mend myself, and find it in me to try again for someone else.

If, by some miracle you're reading this, Cypy, I just want to say, I hope you're happy with your life choices, and I'm sorry for being an idiot for so long.

The above post was brought to you by Yakuza Kiwami 2. Some 35 hours into the game later and I've finally completed both sagas, and Majima's saga, while disgustingly short, left such a deep, deep impression on me, it physically hurts me to the point of losing sleep. There's such a bitter gash in me... it's so rare to be so moved by a work of fiction I... can't really believe it, still. Something about it really resonated with me, like it came from such a dark yet beautiful place in someone's soul I just... can't cope with it. And so here I am, writing to get it off my chest.

A Failure In Death

But you haven't taught me how to talk
I don't want to hesitate any longer
To take charge of my life
Do something for myself
It's not something we were taught to do
But no one tells us how to be happy either
I'm not going to listen anymore
I feel trapped between everything I'm told I should be
I don't want to live as though I'm dead anymore
Perhaps it's not me you're looking for
So save your "I love you"s for yourself

I won't do anything rash and stupid
Only the most calculated move through the problem of life
I don't want to feel warmth anymore
Twice a month I'll get to bleed bad blood for an hour
But what will I do without my serrogate friend?
I don't want to be warmed into second guessing anymore
The only hope and friends are all professionals
I don't want to listen anymore

How alone, how alone
Can one feel in a sea of people?
So squeezed tight, I've nowhere to hide, no way to breathe
Surely even now I am being watched
But who can help me get what I want?
The brave ones who succeeded are all gone
And I am left all alone
Yearning to be one of them

Reaching out at this hour only brands me a criminal
They'll only spare no effort to keep me alive
But then only say there's hope without lifting a finger
They know, I know
This world is fucked up
If only, if only
I wasn't so scared
Why are we wired this way
To instinctually fear when we want with all our heart?
I am a fucking coward
Who can only ask for so much before being locked away

Is it you? Is it me?
Is it so wrong to be weak?
Why is the world fortified with so many parapets?
Is it them? Is it me?
Am I insane, or am I the only sane one?
Is it you, is it me
Is it me

Who doesn't care why it's so wrong anymore
This happens. Life happens. Shit happens
This is normal
This is my normal
And you are all sick for being okay
with this
I see happiness under my palm; I've got to seize it
I'll stop shaking, I'll stop feeling weak
My pulse will stop racing
Whenever I am ready

But you haven't taught me how to talk
This is my goodbye
My eyes are now open and dry
I am sane with a clear head
And I can see my real role models now
These feelings will all die soon
Nobody can help me anymore
Nobody can stop me anymore
This is what I want

The Night Before Therapy

well, here I am again. After dreading writing for a few months, dragging my ass to write here to make sure my monthly history doesn't have an odd gap, then realising how many thoughts and emotions I've dammed up as a result of not writing... and then having a million draft, unfinished posts sitting like an underdeveloped fetus in my dashboard, too incomplete to see the light of day, too cruel to delete, but I as a "mother" don't have what it takes to really finish them.

Here I am, million draft posts and all, starting another post. Who knows if this will ever see light of day.

It's the morning of my first therapy session with - in what seems like forever, because she couldn't make the last two scheduled sessions due to medical leave and compassionate leave. I'm someone who's always an intense and sensitive person, which is just a recipe for disaster if that needs spelling out. So, in the month or so that I haven't been able to talk with -, a lot of old fears, insecurities, even thoughts of suicide have crept back into my mind, and now I'm customarily losing sleep on the night before an appointment with IMH. It's not that I'm not tired; it's just that my mind is racing between every single issue I might need help with, that I want someone loving and supporting to talk to about, from every phase of my life, and I'm just... terrified, of it all.

The scope of my problems terrify me. I can smile, I can laugh, I can enjoy myself, I can convince myself to live another day when friends and family are around. But, because I am my own worst enemy, and because I know myself best, I tend to kick myself in my balls the hardest as a result. I'm scared of my multitude of problems. I'm scared of how long it'd take to sort them all out. I'm scared that I'd be unable to ever come clean with mental illnesses with potential employers, so that I could take frequent leaves for more therapy and medication. I'm afraid that I'd never find a loving relationship, all the jargon, terms, and overlapping symptoms that I can associate with. The more I find that describes me, the more afraid I get, yet at the same time not knowing is somehow equally terrifying. Anxiety, depression, dysthymia, rumination, BPD, PTSD, CPTSD, transference... the list goes on and on, and the more I can relate with, the more it terrifies me. How many parts of me are broken? Can I be repaired, and is it worth the time and money to repair something this damaged? Will I have enough time and money to see myself through all this? What if I'm victimising myself again? What if this is my anxiety kicking me in the nuts for no logical reason? What if I'm self diagnosing? Why doesn't anyone ever tell me straight up what's wrong with me? If psychology is a "soft" thing, is there really a definitive way to say what exactly I'm struggling with?

That I can find it in me to still laugh and enjoy fragments of my life at times... even of that too, I am terrified. What if this is escapism? What if the only way I can have some semblance of a normal life is to run away from my problems and pretend I'm okay? How much of a tough appearance until it becomes a bad thing? I'm tired. Of fighting. Of pretending. Perhaps even of existing. I'm tired. I'm scared.

What if the only way I can meaningfully express all this is via a paid professional? Can - be my surrogate friend forever? Can I really never form such relationships by my own power? Am I going to be cripplingly lonely forever?

Is it really so awful to want it all to end?

Homework: Self Compassion

Hisashiburi desu! It's been a while since my last post, I know. For as much as my writing meanders and dragons ooonn and ooooooon, I find that putting my thoughts into words, and self expression in general, is a huge challenge for me. Particularly when it comes to matters that are awful enough to disrupt my life, which is just about everything worth writing about, eheh. To put it metaphorically, my thoughts are like lava, and to bring you my thoughts, I have to scoop up that lava by hand and arrange them into coherent sentences. At times it feels downright stupid and self destructive to attempt. In fact, I'm almost sure it is, if it weren't for the fact that therapists seem to love encouraging journalling, as mine has.

So, I guess this is my homework. I was tasked to write about self compassion, since I beat myself up mentally a lot. I actually don't know how the heck writing about my own shortcomings and being kinder to myself helps. I mean, to be kinder to yourself and pat yourself on the back for something you did wrong is just... wrong, for one, and two, if you can rationalise it, doesn't it mean you've already processed through the event? The heck does writing help?

(Sorry, I've always been a rebellious kid at school, questioning authority and such. It's a knee jerk reaction... *deep breath*)

I've been an absolute jackass to my immediate family members, especially my mother. Yeah, yeah, I know, this is when you toss in the stereotypical Asian scoldings like "how dare you you unfilial piece of garbage just you wait you'll get struck by lighting as karma!", and perhaps it's precisely that kind of customary response that has fostered all this angst in me, and convinced me that I can never open up to my family members about anything. It's a weird relationship I have with my family members, wherein I hesitate to really say I love them, but at the same time I rely on them for sustenance. I only barely tolerate their loud, boorish arguments at home, and constantly bugging me at the worst times when it's evidently clear I'm engrossed in something on my computer (which is most of the time, actually...), yet I can't imagine a tomorrow without any one of them. I can't really say I totally understand it myself. It's always been a weird notion to me how parents are "supposed" to love, raise, and support their kids. After all, you get cases of parents disowning their kids for something as genetics as sexuality, or preferential as religion. That is to say, a lot of times I question if they really love me, even if I "know" they love me. Even if they keep beating the fact that they love me and know me the best over my head. It's just an odd mismatch between what I'm told and what I feel. After all, I never had my parents support when I wanted to skip on bullshit activities in school like national day celebrations, or garbage overnight camps, when several of my classmates did. Every time I expressed a problem or a need, I'd just be chided for being weak and stupid. Even until now, their reactions to my need for professional mental help is met with the most disparaging, ignorant, chiding responses ever. "What the hell are you remembering your bullying from 10 years ago for?! Just forget it!", "just get another job! I need your financial support!", "why are you wasting time bumming out at home?! You know how much money you could've made if you've been working for these past x months?!" Even when it came to something as harmless and small as a job preference, I get talked down. "Why the fuck would you want to be a technician?! That's a job for dirty foreigners with no education!"

I know that, logically speaking, I have every right and reason to dislike my family members and be in their presence. But it's not a logical thing, is it? Which part of parental love and cultural expectations is logical? It's a lesson I learned from young that it's a lot more convenient and easier if I were to just shut the fuck up and keep to myself. Just being in the presence of people who'd so quickly criticise someone on a surface level for being unfilial already drains me so, much less actually try to have a civil, fruitful conversation with them. My family members moreso than most, actually. In the words of a silly Chinese saying, it's almost as if I were "picked out of a garbage bin", instead of being their biological son. I feel so... disconnected and distant, so different, from them.

So when they ask me asinine questions I don't even want to answer when I'm free to answer, during a session where I'm recording gameplay footage, or driving in a simulator, of course I'd lose my shit. This is the part of the assignment where I'm supposed to be like, "oh if I weren't in a rush, or if I didn't have such a bad day before this incident, maybe I wouldn't have been so rude to the waitress". But I don't know what the heck to say. I mean, I get why office politics exist. I get why I need to do slavery. But knowing doesn't make the pain go away. What am I supposed to do, wish to be born in an ideal world with ideal people? Pfft.

It's just that, they will always without fail shame me for being rude to them, my own parents, which just adds to the frustration.

Infinite

Tyler Smyth & Andy Bane From Dangerkids - Theme of Infinite

I'm the tallest of mountains
I am the roughest of waves
I'm the toughest of terrors
I am the darkest of days
I'm the last one that's standing
Don't try to stand in my way
Cause I've been up against better
Just take a look at my face
Cause if you're messing with me
I am a dangerous weapon
I am the sharpest of blades
I'll cut you down in a second
Cause I was born in this pain
It only hurts if you let it
So if you think you can take me
Then you should go and forget it

And after all this time, you're back for more
(I won't stop until they know my name)
So I'll take what's mine and start this war
(I'm coming at you like a tidal wave)

When everything you know has come and gone
(You are at your lowest, I am rising higher)
Only scars remain of who I was
(What I find in the ashes, you lose in the fire)
When there's no one left to carry on
(This is an illusion, open up your eyes and)
This pain (persists)
I can't (resist)
But that's what it takes to be Infinite

So look around you
And tell me what you really see
I never end
And that's the difference in you and me
Cause when your time is up
And everything is falling down
It's only me and you - who is gonna save you now?
So look around you
And tell me what you really see
You live a lie
And that's the difference in you and me
I have the power
Let me show you what it's all about
It's only me and you - who is gonna save you now?
(Who is gonna save you now?)

I am the tallest of mountains
And don't you ever forget it
If you step in the ring
Then you're gonna regret it.
(Take it)
Cause if you're messing with me
Then you should know that it's over
I don't crumble for nothing
I've got the world on my shoulders

And after all this time, you're back for more
(I won't stop until they know my name)
So I'll take what's mine and start this war

When everything you know has come and gone
(You are at your lowest, I am rising higher)
Only scars remain of who I was
(What I find in the ashes, you lose in the fire)
When there's no one left to carry on
(This is an illusion, open up your eyes and)
This pain (persists)
I can't (resist)
But that's what it takes to be Infinite

So look around you
And tell me what you really see
I never end
And that's the difference in you and me
Cause when your time is up
And everything is falling down
It's only me and you - who is gonna save you now?
So look around you
And tell me what you really see
You live a lie
And that's the difference in you and me
I have the power
Let me show you what it's all about
It's only me and you - who is gonna save you now?
(Who is gonna save you now?)

-----------------------------------------------------------

God damn I am a child for liking this as much as I do.

Okay, let's face it: Sonic games almost always have amazing music way too good for a game of its calibre. And they also have pretty... uh... easy to digest lyrics, to put it nicely. It's not going to wow you with its Shakespearean levels of insight or make you wonder about life like Metal Gear. But, hey, that's what I love about it, aside from the always kickass instrumentals in the background. I believe every piece of media has a certain target audience and a certain way to appreciate it that not everybody gets. And that's fine.

I'm here to explain how I take this song entirely out of context by thinking way too much, because I go to the "crazy institute" for a reason, okay? And because it's a more subtle way to talk about my way too personal to be shared publicly problems and this is my way to filter out people with short attention spans as my way to cope with the embarrassment of sharing this publicly HAHAHAHAaaaaaaa ah.... *sigh*

"It's almost as if you're afraid of letting others know you", my therapist tells me. It's true. It's very true, and I'm so glad she managed to find that out about me and said it plain as day to my face because with how long I've lived with these bad habits and thinking tendencies, they've become as natural to me as breathing. That is, pushing people away, isolating myself, running from social situations... all of it is as instinctual to me as breathing, to the point where I don't even notice I'm doing it anymore. And I wonder why I'm lonely, ha!

But why is that? Therapists can point out tendencies, but they can't point out a cause - assuming it's a single cause, which, let's face it, is almost never the case. So I think a lot of overthinking and digging up of a past I'm less than comfortable with, and the assorted wallowing in self pity was in order. It's gonna be a long read, if you can't already tell. I sure do hope you've some popcorn with you as I take this opportunity to ramble and indulge in my own nightmares. I... ought to start selling digital popcorn or something to go along with this whole blogging thing.

I was bullied as a teen in my neighbourhood school. It wasn't terribly physical, and honestly for as much as it has affected me, I can't even ham it up in writing to make it sound serious. It was mainly name calling, shaming, being ganged up on and made fun of... it looked so harmless on the outside that most adults and the kids themselves packaged it as "they're/we're just playing with you la!" I don't have many specific memories to share of being bullied. It's kinda hard to describe every weekday in detail for four years, especially since it's been about ten years since it all started. Denial and escapism are sometimes more necessary than their stigmas would lead you to believe, I'm afraid. It wasn't an impact break, to put it in engineer terms. It's more a steady, yet not quite slow disintegration of a human mind in its budding stages. It was just sort of... normal, to me, this upbringing, this toxin, this... hatred, this anger, this loneliness... I thought it was normal. I thought this was what everyone meant when they tell you that life isn't all sunshine and flowers.

I guess it sort of is. Kids are cruel by nature. People always want to feel powerful, to belong in a group. We all want to be remembered, one way or another. And what better way to do that than to single out a target as a group and bully them, right? It worked like a charm; the bullies enjoyed their school days, and our class was even considered to be the "most united class" in our cohort, in spite of the hell I'm experiencing each day. People I've never even met before could suddenly come up to me calling me by degrading nicknames coined by bullies of my class. I suppose that's just how they bond.

And I for the life of me cannot even figure out why I was so hated, so ridiculed. And if I'm not even the one to throw the first stone and I'm targeted like this then... that must mean that something about me being me, something inherently "me" was super hateful and disagreeable. That was the only reason the hive like teenage mind of mine could rationalise the travesty that was my everyday life in bid to feel some semblance of understanding, and thus the seed of tremendous self doubt, insecurity, and mindfulness was planted. I began to view each new social encounter as a threat even before it happened. I started to hate people by default, since they seemed to hate me by default. Hatred, caution, discretion, all of it, just seemed to be etiquette and common sense to protect myself. As a result I had extreme difficulty trusting people or being true to them, let alone make any friends. Hell, I couldn't even be true to myself for that matter. And if you don't even know yourself, what makes you happy, what you look for in a friend, then it's kinda ridiculous to even think about making friends now isn't it?

I'm not the only victim of bullying, nor will I claim to have suffered the worst of it - not by far I haven't. I'm not asking for pity, and quite frankly nothing anyone says will change the past and how I let it affect me. I'm just sharing all this crap as a background info as context, as a prelude to what I really want to talk about next.

Yep, all that crap I laid onto you about bullying? Not even the main topic of this post. HAHAHAHAHA! (please don't hate me I'm so lonely tell me how to not be disliked why is everything so awkward am I funny am I hateful please don't leave me I'm scared of being alone).

For those not familiar with Singapore's education system, Secondary School typically involves 4-5 years of education from ages 13 to 16/17, with Secondary 3 and up being considered "upper secondary". And with upper sec comes a reshuffle of class allocations according to the different subjects you get to choose to take upon graduation of Sec 2, in comparison to the "bit of everything thrown at you" approach that was the case with lower sec.

And so with the reshuffling of classmates come Sec 3, I had hoped for a lot better. Finally, I wouldn't be forced into the same room as a room of nitwits and clowns from 8-1 every weekday! Maybe my luck would turn around and I'd meet some half decent people for a change. And, hey, whaddaya know - I did! Being one of the queer ones that took Literature classes over Geography as was somehow the unspoken norm, I was pigeon holed into the last of the express clasees - 3E5, which was the only class that had Literature students, and even then only about a quarter of the class were taking Literature. 3E5 also happened to be the class of a very, very cute prefect/councillor I've kinda had an eye on for a while by then, since I'm an avid badminton player back then, spending the bulk of my recess time playing with even the assholes that bullied me sometimes, or even skipping eating entirely to make the most of my time on the court. This girl, whom we shall call "codad" from now on, seemed to be assigned to the court area to chase us away when recess time was nearly over so we wouldn't be late for the following assembly/ class. Not only was she hella cute, but she'd actively help us put the nets away when the time came, and she'd even thank me for helping her go out of her way beyond her duties to help us! How the heck I got to know her name is something I can't remember, though, given that I was an anti social dork that hardly spoke even by then, but pshh that's beside the point (translation: I might've been a creepy asshole stalker even back then HAHAHAAH!).

Something else I don't at all remember was how we became fast friends in 3E5. If somehow you could transplant the consciousness of the 24 year old me that's typing this right now into the 15 year old me then I'd be an even worse stuttering, shivering, clueless mess... It's really hard for me to believe, but in spite of all the bullying, all the crap I've been through in lower sec, I was able to still make friends. I was able to talk, laugh, connect emotionally to others if I wanted to. It's something I've seemingly forgotten how to do since.

But, for a while, it really did seem like I had a new life, a new beginning. I mean, of course my self esteem issues, my insecurities, my self doubt, or even tendency to be bullied didn't all magically go away just because I became friends with codad. Rather, I think that, because I was friends with her, all that nonsense seemed a little more trivial. I finally felt a semblance of what being a "normal" kid felt like, whatever "normal" may be. To the 15 year old me, it meant having someone willingly sit beside me during class. It meant not eating alone, having *SOME* motivation to get up and go to school, working on group projects with a group, getting to know more friends through friends, being invited out to shop together after classes, knowing birthdays, celebrating birthdays... Because of her the usually shut-in, anti-social me knew where Dhoby Ghaut and Wild Wild Wet was, to name only a few. Took group photos, had someone look forward to my writing in my blog, had someone to turn to when I was down, and had someone turn to me and I could actually make someone's life better. It... might sound ridiculously basic, almost as a given, but this was mind blowing shit to me back then.

We were so close. So much so that we became "family" and started calling each other "kor" and "mei", Hokkien for "older brother" and "younger sister", as was seemingly the hip and in thing that kids back then were into. Hell if I know though, HA! We had a brother too, a mutual friend, splitting the eight month gap between us evenly, technically younger than me by some four months or so, but older than her by 4 months. I say "technically" he's younger than me because you would never guess it by looking at the way we act, talk, think, and especially write.

You see, blogs were a big thing back then, before any of this newfangled thingamajigs like "Facebook" and "Twitter" became really prominent. It's the whole reason why I started blogging, too, after all, not getting the hint that blogs have long since faded into obscurity because I'm always the odd kid. And so I must've been on a blog hopping spree when I came across his blog. Let's call him "wbb" from now. I was absolutely blown clean away by the quality of his writing. Because I'm a god awful writer myself I can't really elaborate on why, especially because it was almost ten freaking years ago and I've the memory of a goldfish suffering dementia and depression with a jackhammer wound on his head. Just... trust me when I say that it was so good, it'd make you go, "woooah..." with each post and prompt you to keep scrolling to read more entries, okay? Good? OH COME ON JUST PLAY ALONG GODDAMNIT WHOSE WRITING IS THIS NOW?!

So, while technically I'm older than him (by four months in the same year, but just let me celebrate the small victories of life okay you sadistic fuck), it had always felt like it was the other way around - he was always the one to emotionally massage me when things went wrong, he was always the one with a better, more positive perspective to offer when alls I could see were doom and gloom. His grades were infinitely better, as a given, being from the holy 3E1 and all, AND also a prefect/ councillor like codad! He's pretty much what a model student and an ideal friend would be if you could sculpt one from the ground up in CAD. I know nobody's perfect. Heck, even the 15 year old me back then knew that nobody could be perfect, but hoooly sheeeeet they're perfect, you know?! I legitimately couldn't believe we were of the same age, given his maturity and smarts.

Anyway, remember how I said that I've the memory of a goldfish suffering dementia and depression with a jackhammer wound on his head? No, that wasn't a throwaway line. YES, THAT WAS IMPORTANT, you asshole! Pay more attention! This is where it comes into play and destroys my entire fucking life! Also toss in the whole "celebrating birthdays" and "confiding in a friend" part as seasoning, serve chilled with my anti-social emo kid tendencies as sides.

So it was nearing the end of October... was it? I don't fucking remember - escapism and denial are more necessary sometimes than their stigmas would let you believe, as I'm sure is your first time reading that line. Point is, we were going to celebrate her birthday with an outing to the theme park Wild Wild Wet. A barbecue at a beachy setting might also have been involved. We were discussing the meeting time and place over MSN Messenger, and me being the smartass that has never been to an outing involving more than 3 people, I wanted to try something different. I wanted to try being useful. I wanted to do something for the girl I inexplicably loved so much because teenage hormones be goddamned. I, anti-social kid who's never been to an outing with more than 3 people before, wanted to plan her birthday celebration. Long story short - mostly because I really don't remember much of it - it was a total dumpster fire of a mess and I was the cause of it all. I don't remember much of anything that happened but I am somehow absolutely certain I fucked everything up for everyone.

I'm sorry if this is a little hard to follow. It's all a mess in my head too, and I suppose that's just reflected in writing.

Another trait of hers I hadn't mentioned up to now... she has a rather childish, short temper. One that's kinda really petty and short lived, but also very serious, and also kinda cute in its own way. I remember arriving at White Sands Shopping Mall hours before everyone had agreed to meet at E!Hub, because I was somehow the only person out of the loop. I remember calling what little numbers of mutual friends I had, only to end up breaking down and crying over the phone at the last one. Back then, before smartphones and Google Maps, I had absolutely no idea what to do to look for directions. Everybody just said "e hub", but I'm the only person that seemed to not know what the heck an e hub was. Everything that I had tried to leave behind, all the sadness I've tried to repress for the three years from being bullied, the inadequacy, the insecurity, that sticking out like a sore thumb... it all came crashing down on me in an instant.

I remember too, during lunch at the beachy place, she called me by my name for the first time in so long, I was panicking. Never before have the words in my own name, “可达”, hurt me so much. She was mad at me. She was mad at me. I'm stupid. I'm an idiot. I'm fucking useless. All those thoughts consumed me for the whole of the celebration. I couldn't even crack a smile the whole celebration.

(You still reading? TMI trigger warning, okay?)

After the celebration, wbb asked me how it went, since he couldn't join. Him being the only emotional pillar of support I've come to know to rely on, I kinda hesitated still in telling him I liked codad. I was... super insecure and uncertain as to what to do with irrational, romantic feelings as a teen. I was afraid that we wouldn't last because I was thinking as far ahead as slavery even back then. I used to think romance was only for adults ready to give birth to and raise children, and so I really couldn't figure out why the hell my face, my heart, and my dick felt the way it did around her, HA!

At the time, I couldn't help but to view feelings of love and lust as abnormal, evil prehistoric caveman tendencies that needed to be curbed with civility and reason. After all, we were only teens back then. Watching the more popular kids around me get into relationships and breaking up in, what, two weeks, and then hearing all about the outcry and backlash of it all... I couldn't help but to think that, well... there's no two ways about it, is there? I couldn't help but to think that all that drama was fucking stupid. And I could not stand the thought of putting codad at risk of that crap because I loved her. I couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, or anybody else, like that, especially since sex is often portrayed as painful, irreversible, and has so many risks of diseases. So, by me feeling those kinds of urges, by me wanting to drill her, doesn't that mean that I want to devalue and hurt her? I couldn't live with myself having those feelings. Love and lust seemed almost like a mental disease to me at the time, and hence why I could never tell her how I felt towards her.  All this misguided thinking and beliefs made me loathe my own feelings towards codad, and in turn, myself. And, well, how the heck is a relationship supposed to work out if I'm not even secure with my own feelings?

Looking back at it all now, as a grown ass adult going through therapy, I really wished that I had someone to talk to back then. Someone to debunk and challenge my beliefs, the way I viewed the world, and so on. I wish sex ed taught us more than "don't have sex before marriage or you're scum", or even where to draw the line between sadness and life altering depression, because to me back then they were one and the same. So what if I were sad, you know? Everybody gets sad, right? I couldn't have known back then how my experiences would shape and prime me for a world of pain and loneliness as an unemployable adult.

I mean, I did have wbb to talk to. He was the only one I could've talked to, and so I did. I shared with him my second, private blog, with the promise that he wouldn't dig any deeper than that day's post. But, you know, he did. He ploughed through the entire eight month history of my private blog, read about all my urges because I swear to god I am the stupidest motherfucking asshat somehow still intelligent enough to breathe.

Why the hell did feel like I owed it to myself to document how I feel, even until now, and share these politically suicidal flaws and feelings with the world? Perhaps it's because I never really have anyone to talk to, so in a way I talk to myself in writing. Either way, wbb, after reading about how I want to hug codad from behind and sniff her hair and other such urges, deemed me a threat to her safety and told her all about my feelings towards her. Being the 15 year olds that we were back then... she really didn't take the news well at all. I would learn later through walls of pink text in caps over MSN that she cried and cried the whole day, even losing her appetite. She was so upset with me that I remember some of her disparaging remarks, word for word, even until today. "I NEVER NEEDED YOUR HELP", "IF YOU COME NEAR ME I'LL SCREAM!" "PERVERT".

And there it went. My support pillars, gone just like that. "You're willing to protect her from the world, but not yourself", wbb tells me. I don't think it's any exaggeration to tell you that from that moment on, my life changed drastically, almost as if I became a very different person. I couldn't figure out any of it; why? I know I had nothing but the noblest and kindest of intentions. For a while I felt like I had found what I had been unknowingly looking for in their friendship. So why? What happened? How could it all come crashing down so horrifyingly, so quickly? It's my fault, right? It has to b; after all, they're perfect. Why am I so stupid, screwing up her birthday celebration so badly? Why did I trust anyone the way I did wbb? It's... this is all a joke, right? A mean prank in poor taste? A way too early prep for a surprise on my birthday next year? As stupid as it all might sound to adult ears, I genuinely believed and held onto that hope. I was in my own make believe world, because that make-believe world was the only way I could rationalise what I'm experiencing. And in that make-believe reality, I am a monster. I am a demon. How else could I have hurt the two people closest to me so immensely, in such a short time? If the two people that I've gotten so much advice from, to have come to rely on, both tell me I'm a pervert, and a threat, then it has to be true, right? They're wonderful, wonderful people; I believed that way beyond the bitter end, which is precisely why I couldn't find it in myself to ever doubt what they were saying, even if it meant believing that I'm a metaphorical monster. And thus, from that day on, I well and truly believed that I am a monster; that I am an active and constant threat to the safety of all the girls around me. That I was good for nothing but despair and destruction.

And thus began my clearest memories of suicidal thoughts. They're wonderful, wonderful people; and I am an abomination that never should've existed. If I can so immensely hurt such wonderful people, if I am a threat to all the girls around me, then is that not to say that the world would be a much safer, much better place if I were permanently gone? With one leg out the window, I looked down to the only solution that'd wipe my sins clean and right every wrong. "This is what you wanted, right?", I thought to myself. "This is my promise to you", I'd come up with bullshit excuses like that. "Please just be happy again", I thought to no one in particular. "Please smile again".

But, wouldn't you know it, even in something as simple as dying, I am a fucking failure. Even in what would've been my final moments, I had thoughts of all our happy times together. As I looked down through my fall, I got this same, sick vomiting sensation as I had when I was on the pirate ship attraction with her on her celebration, and I got scared. So, yeah, if you're wondering why I hadn't killed myself yet, it's because of two reasons. 1: fear of pain, and 2: I couldn't make it over the damn parapets of our apartments because I'm fat. It's so strange, don't you think? That even when every fibre of your being wants to die and believes that that's the right thing to do, primal urges, the instinct for self preservation, can still act against all reason towards the contrary. It is a cruel, cruel joke, how we're wired as human beings. To want to live when we want to die. To want to have sex when we're way too young to even take care of ourselves.

As if I didn't hate myself enough for the way my friendship with codad and wbb ended, now tack on even more hatred for the inability to take responsibility for it by ending my own life... I hated myself beyond words. Somewhere along the line, something snapped inside me, and something changed; I'm not sure what. I only remember something along the lines of, "I can't go on like this forever". "What doesn't kill me will make me stronger".

Even until now I can't say I totally understand what the heck happened to me back then. I was just... constantly angry, to no one in particular, even if nothing happened. Anger and condescension just became the norm to me. I hated being talked to, I hated the way roads I was walking on curved... I guess I was the angriest at myself, still, even if I couldn't admit it to myself. If I couldn't take responsibility for hurting them by dying, then I just had to be a much, much better person, so that I'd never hurt anyone ever again. Somehow that meant being critical of everything, EVERYTHING. I saw nothing but negativity, malice, and sloppiness in the world, and I stopped at nothing to call them out on it. I became super condescending and disgruntled, to a point where I'd even challenge teachers, thinking they were stupid, and even once going as far as calling our principal by his full name. I wasn't even quick to anger; I was constantly angry. It's... something you can still see in me today, isn't it? My hateful, hateful perfectionism, my horrendously pessimistic outlook on life, my recurring nightmares about codad and wbb, and most prominently my inability to make friends and trust others.

I've gotten a lot better since then, don't get me wrong. I just think that, with those life lessons shaping my malleable teenage mind, there are some beliefs and habits that are nigh impossible as an adult to break, even if I know full well, and I see crystal clearly, how much grief and sadness it is causing me. It's almost as if I'm watching a horrible movie starring myself in a cinema; I hate it but nothing I yell or throw at the screen will change how the movie plays out. It's fucking horrifying. I don't think I can do the feeling any justice: knowingly watching yourself go insane, but seemingly having no control over it, having absolutely no idea why it's happening, why you? I honestly didn't know what else I could've done. I honestly didn't know how else I could atone to them, and to myself. I didn't know how else I could prevent the same thing from happening again, and the pain terrified me to such an extent it drove me to drastically alter myself. At one point I even seriously wondered if amputating my dick, if that is even a service you could pay for, would atone and solve everything. It was so mind bendingly awful I think I couldn't even masturbate for months.

No, it's okay, go ahead and laugh. It's fine, I'll laugh along with you. You don't have to feel bad. Being able to make people laugh with what I can offer means a whole lot more to me than it would to anyone I made laugh. So laugh away. It'd prove at least I'm good for something.

I dunno. I suppose that aggression was me compensating for feeling so lost, puzzled, and vulnerable. Hating everything else was the only way I could not feel awful about hating myself, to prove that I exist, to prove that I matter, albeit I would only later find out it was only a short term stopgap solution. I... just want someone to acknowledge that I exist, after the two people I've given my everything to, trusted way more than anyone should've trusted anyone, and loved more than common sense would've allowed walked away smiling as if nothing had ever happened, as if I was never a part of their lives. In a cheesy, video-gamey analogy, it's almost as if I'm a villain in a video game who had given humanity one last chance and it was thrown away, and this is just what I've become. You can listen to that empty song above again now, see if you hear it any differently. See if you hear it the way I do. I find the simplistic aggression in this song to be strangely relatable because I don't think I ever got over that "I'm a monster" phase of my life, and I'm afraid of letting others see the real me that has hurt those too close to me too deeply. And hence why I always distance myself from others. That's why I daren't make friends. I don't think I ever got over the guilt of what happened nearly nine years ago. And at this rate it feels like I'll carry it to my grave.

Again, I don't know for sure - I'm no psychologist. But, short of a trained psychologist, I think I know myself best. We all want to believe we've come out of a trying time a better, stronger person, but I know that the phases of my life in secondary school broke me. To varying extents, even up till now, I would wonder, every time I step out of my house, what if I would run into her again? What would I tell her? Do I want to say anything to her? Do I try to be civil and grown up about everything, or does she want nothing of me but to continue staying out of her line of sight? I don't even know if I should apologise, if I'm even at fault, yet I know that to get over this sense of guilt I need to apologise, to her, for me. But is that even asking too much? Is that being too selfish of me? Wwith my horrendous facial recognition skills, a lot of times I think I see her, but I could never stare long enough to confirm because I'd freak the hell out internally. Even if I don't know where to draw the line between everyday sadness and life altering depression, even I know that something is horrendously wrong when even the thought of having seen a woman could make my whole body lock up and my heart race irregularly. Have trouble breathing, focus goes all giddy, and thoughts of her just bombard my head for hours after that, and I can't concentrate on anything else. I lose my appetite, everything loses its taste to me, my stomach turns knots, and I just want to be left the fuck alone. I just want to curl into a fetal position and scream. She could as much just pass me by like a breeze and I'd completely break down. I would fucking crumple into a million irredeemable pieces and shapes and she wouldn't even notice.

ACS 8-8-18: Softness

I've just had my first one-to-one psychotherapy session after group therapy yesterday. As usual, I really enjoyed talking to -----, my PT. As she pointed out to me, therapy sessions aren't meant to "solve all my life's problems", as I so eloquently put it. Therapy environments and the safe circles that are required for therapy sessions aren't meant to replicate real life situations and interactions, she tells me, after I told her how I found therapy sessions to be akin to "paradise". After all, in group therapy, we are all there because we know we need help, we are ready to be personal and vulnerable, and as such we're all so... nice, to one another. In individual therapy, hah, need I say any more? An attractive lady, sitting down with me one-to-one to talk for an hour about my problems, actually understanding and empathising with me, whom I can genuinely make laugh and who can genuinely make me laugh? Who can be open minded enough to accommodate my renowned stubbornness, and kindly point out problems and suggest how to improve? In real life? Forget about it! Not even if I paid her that fifty dollars per hour!

Rather, therapy sessions are a learning environment similar to schools, she puts it. According to her, nothing you really learn in school, nor the interactions you have in school can be directly superimposed into the working world, into society. Nobody in the working world is going to cheer you on, etc.. Unfortunately I cut her off before she could elaborate much, because naaaaaaw! That doesn't happen in schools, what the heck are you talking about? School in my opinion directly matches real life, in my opinion. In my polytechnic days I've had people refuse to help me with questions I had because helping me would "affect the bell curve". You have underage students sleeping with teachers in exchange for grades, you have ten, twenty faced students at every turn. It's all about learning how to survive in a society, in a network of interconnected, symbiotic human beings, that ironically all somehow seem to harbour immense hatred for each other. Just like real life and society, don't you think? School has always been less about the textbook stuff and more comparable to an appetiser, a sample, of what's to come in our lives.

And so hopefully it comes as an understandable shock to me when I'm told that the learning environment that is therapy isn't supposed to prepare myself for real life, as I believe school to prepare us for real life. There's some irony in there somewhere, I'm sure. Rather, she tells me that therapeutic environments, be it the eight week group therapy sessions that I've been to, or the individual therapy sessions that I'm still going for, is mainly to exercise some "mental muscles". Muscles that may perhaps prove useful when I'm out swimming with the sharks again. For example, in the past eight weeks, we were tasked with challenging ourselves to do something that was out of our comfort zones. I've heard stories of how some of my therapy mates challenged themselves to ask for directions, to talk to strangers, girls, letting their kids cross the street or take a bus on their own without having an all too controlling watchful eyes over them, or even just taking a selfie. Me personally, I've shaved my head bald like I've wanted to for so long. I've managed to show up to therapy sessions in T shirt, shorts and slippers, which, trust me, is a bold move, okay! I have severe insecurity issues when it comes to my appearance, owing to my oversized body and having been laughed at by kids for not understanding societal norms and cues. I'm... er... going to try, to take up Iaido lessons to better hone my mind and get in some exercise, and hopefully make some friends along the way. But that's still in the works, i.e. I still need to work up the balls for it.

The aim of therapy, as my PT tells me, is that we leave therapy a better, stronger person, with more resources at hand and healthier thinking tendencies and habits to deal with life's difficulties. She even put it in a way that I'd never have had the balls to say it, lest I get shot eyes reserved for the insane: it's almost like I have a little therapist inside me that's growing, so that I can consult with myself the next time I'm challenged by life. And it's true! I do catch myself thinking, "gosh, this is so wrong, but what would ----- say to me in a situation like this...?", a lot of the time. After all, hey, if I can be as perceptive, and mentally strong as her, as mentally healthy as her, to the point where I can help those around me with their own struggles, then is that not to say that that would make me... immune to depression? I mean, short of having my limbs hacked off and my family burnt to death at a stake while I'm forced to watch, but you get my point, right?

I open the previous paragraph with "as my PT tells me", because she also tells me that psychology is a "soft" concept... whatever that may mean. I mean, I think I know roughly what she means by that, but I don't necessarily know how to put it into words. My take on it is that psychology is something that varies person by person, with different people of different needs requiring different approaches. As such there are no absolute methods that will work for everyone, and in turn, that there are no absolute standards that everyone should be held to. Different people find different things challenging, you know? Like how a social media influencer might have no trouble uploading a selfie a day, yet someone in our group has had to challenge herself to do it. Some people break down and cry when they get a 91/100 in a test, and here I am just happy I'm done with my diploma, 2.1GPA be damned.

Especially on the nights before an appointment with IMH, I panic when I try to sleep. Sometimes I'm afraid to close my eyes to sleep, because the moment I don't have something to preoccupy my mind, the moment I try to clear my mind to sleep, I start to think about myself, and my life, and those prospects terrify me. My mind does Swanton Bombs into a bed of double wishbone suspension springs through fire arrows as I freak the hell out about every little thing that has went wrong with my life, about every little thing that has upset me, about me as a person. Just as therapy sessions hope to "impart a little bit of everybody in you, so that you have more resources, and more helpful voices in your head next time something comes up", I think I've had that exact thing happen to me my whole life, except for the worse. I've had close friends and family alike tell me that I don't have a problem. That I should "just" go find another job. That I should "just" suck it up and be a man. I've had my worst fears, my deepest sorrows, trivialised like that every time I have tried to share and be vulnerable. Yet at the same time, having my suffering made light of doesn't alleviate any of the pain I feel. In fact, it just makes me feel like I'm weak, that I should let these "small" problems affect me as much as they have. And, crucially, at night when I'm trying to sleep, it makes me wonder if I'm victimising myself. If I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. If I'm just looking for pity. If I'm just hopelessly weak and that natural selection should've long since erased me if society isn't so hell bent on politically correct inclusion.

Suicidal thoughts be damned, sometimes it's hard for me to believe that I have a problem as a result.

"Well, Ke Tat, what do you think?", she asks me.

It's so funny. It's so odd. But something as simple as that question almost made me cry.

Yes, what do I think? Why is that question so shocking to hear from someone else? Why is it such a foreign concept to me? It's always what other people tell me. It's always what other people say. I know what I feel, I know what I think, damnit. It's just... why does what I think and feel always feel so... empty? Weightless? Like nothing ever matters?

Maybe it's because I really do believe that. That my own thoughts, my own opinions, my own feelings, don't matter - or, worse still, that they're errant, that they're an illness that need to be cured, an abnormal evil that needed to be vanquished. This is something that my therapist has assured me that we will work on in the coming weeks - self compassion. After all, what's to challenge that thought process and those beliefs in my life, right? I've never really felt like I've any agency, any control, any say in my life. While in school, I learned that the tallest nail gets hammered down, that unpopular, niche opinions are only valuable in politically correct speeches. No matter how much I hated school I could never not go. Even when they were pulling off stupid, non educational stunts for the whole day, like celebrating National Day, I couldn't not go. I could never not go for those asinine camps where we forsake everything thousands of years of labour and sacrifice of the human race has brought us to suffer insect bites and falling into ponds in the name of "leadership". No matter how lackluster and laughable I found my lecturers and materials in school, hey, what was I to do? My parents are paying out their asses so that I could have a diploma to survive society. No matter how distasteful I find this country and its culture, I'm forced to take up a gun and (pretend to) defend this place, as if I am an adrenaline junkie, as if I bought into their idea of what a soldier, a man, should be. As if I had the makings of a soldier, I am made to hold a gun and fight, simply because I was born with the sin of having a penis. And when I went into the workforce, I was told that I couldn't get my hands dirty being a mechanic, because I'm too "highly educated" for that. As if I've had any choice in what gender to be born with. As if I've had any choice in my fucking education. And now as a grown ass man, learning the ropes of society and struggling with mental illnesses, I need to make a living to support my retrenched mother and retiring father because they had sex very late into their marriage.

Where's the "me" in any of that?

In fact, if I've learnt anything in school that isn't related to bullying, it's that opinions that differ from the norm are to be curbed and shot down as quickly as possible, to ensure the status quo, perhaps because we as Singaporeans are way too comfortable with what we've been handed our whole lives. It also saves the people in power the trouble of having to fill in paperwork, to assess each viewpoint, to implement the changes, etc., and it's a trend that has its peak in slavery, in my opinion, which serves as a grim representation of reality to me.

I guess it's been a lifelong lesson for me that I should just shut the fuck up and listen to others. I mean, what has being angry, being outspoken done for me? I can't tell you what it has done for me, but I can write you another feature length post on what it has done to me.

And now I am so disconnected with myself that, in spite of all the suffering I've had to endure, in spite of having been driven to the precipice of knocking on death's door several times, I still don't see any merit in asking myself, what do I think? What do I feel? Because why does it matter what I think and how I feel? This place needs defending. Food needs to be put on the table. "If not you then who else?". "If everyone else can do it why can't you?". "You so smart you start your own company/ migrate la!". Heck, it'd be worth it to shut up and keep my opinions to myself even if it only meant that I don't have to deal with mouth breathers drunk on adrenaline, propaganda, and masculinity.

But, I'm sorry, this is where I'm going to sound a little defeated, but it's true, isn't it? So what if I find that everything in the world is upside down and inside out? So what if I can't find it in me to pick up a gun and shoot another person I'm told is my enemy? So what if I'm struggling with anxiety, so what if I'm depressed? Everyone needs money to live, everyone needs a job. What choice do I have, to not do those things? If I truly had things my way, I'd have taken my own life years ago. But noooo, I have to live, I'm told. Suicide is selfish, wrong, and illegal, I'm told. Think about the disservice you'll be doing to those closest to you! Hell, even when wanting to die, my own opinions and feelings don't matter. Whatever else I could possibly feel in life would, then, if even feelings as strong and insane as wanting to die won't be heard or even acknowledged, let alone honoured?

And, honestly, so what if I died? So what if I resigned from my job? Would the entire company collapse? Would the world mourn? Of course they won't. Suicide is common. If everyone mourned for every suicide in the world it'd literally be impossible to fit all that mourning in the time of day. It's normal to not be sad. It's normal to be indifferent. It's understandable to not have that kind of time. It's insane to think everyone would genuinely feel so strongly towards everybody who wants to die. Yet why do we always have to pretend? To pretend to be okay, to pretend to be happy? To pretend that suicide is wrong and immoral? To pretend to care only when you see that someone is ready, willing, and able to take their own lives?

It happens. Life happens. Shit happens. People get depressed, just like how people catch colds. So what if I died? I'd just be another one in a countless list. "The world won't change for you", right?

It's gonna be a struggle, -----, to feel as if I'm worth a damn, That my opinions matter, that my personal happiness has value. So please don't leave me.