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.

Value Pack

How appropriate: it's now 4:44 in the morning. I can't sleep. My mind is doing cartwheel flips through electrified hoops whilst covering its make-believe crotch, and nothing I tried can bring it back to tranquility.

In fact... my mind is in a very, very weird place right now. The number 4, when spoken aloud in both Chinese and Japanese, sound like their respective versions of "death", which is why it's highly inauspicious in both cultures to have "4" in number plates, door numbers, etc..

My mind is lonely. My mind is in pain. My mind tells me it needs something that no longer exists to "cure" the pain. It's stupid. It's senseless. I'm not denying any of it. Short of being able to contain it, I've sort of given into it and let it take me for a roller coaster ride of pain, to perhaps see what the hell I can gleam from it.

It's almost as if I want to feel pain. I don't get it either, but combing through painful memories like the ones below somehow made me smile.

I'm a lot better now. It was painful as hell. It is still painful as hell. But this pain is so, so much more liberating than the crap I used to live with.

Why am I always like this the night before an appointment with a mental health professional. Am I scared that I wouldn't sound sad enough? Am I scared that I wouldn't be believed? Am I afraid that I wouldn't believe in the severity of my own pain to warrant paid professional attention?

I'm scared. And in pain. For the first time in a long while I got the urge to hurt myself or drink myself into a stupor to escape my own mind.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017
abandon
I mean, what the hell else is there left to say anymore?

Everybody is sick of my shit. Nobody believes that I have a problem. From friends, to even family. No one is taking me seriously anymore. "Aiya everybody also has depression one la", my cousin chides. "Your problems aren't even real", says Cypy. JK is too "polite" to tell me straight up she's sick of my shit. My psychiatrist of all fucking people doesn't think I have a problem.

Feels like I've come one full fucking circle. One year plus after I "found out" I have depression, I am still depressed, with no one to rely on. No one to take me seriously. I've opened up to friends and family. I've even sought professional help. All things I never thought I'd do. And I'm back one full fucking circle. ONE FULL FUCKING CIRCLE.

I am all alone.

All alone. In my own personal hell no one can see.

And even if people were to try to help me I'd push them all away anyway.

Why.

Why the hell am I even like this?

I don't want to do this anymore.

I don't want to have to be a burden to anyone anymore.

I don't want anybody else's fucking pity anymore.

I don't want to have to hurt anybody anymore.

Help me. Somebody.

Help me do something fucking stupid.

The alcohol isn't doing crap anymore.

Help me escape this.

Perhaps permanently.

I mean what the fuck else am I to do.

I've done and tried everything.

No one understands. No one cares.

Thursday, August 31, 2017
exploding
It seems like I've reached a point where alcohol doesn't seem to be doing anything to me. Well, at least, this Mitsuya Cider I bought. Doesn't even feel like it has any alcohol in it. Just makes my head hurt a little.

Or maybe my head was hurting from the start anyway and the Cider isn't helping.

Instead of trying to write about the things I don't want to write about, in bid to appear as if I'm still holding together, I honestly just want to fucking explode. Short of taking my own life and disappearing from everybody's lives like I so desperately want to, I almost wish I had some type of drug or addiction as an escapism thing right now. I am super ready and super willing to do something really stupid right now, like hurting myself, or going on a mass unfriending spree on Facebook and deleting numbers off my phone, some of whom I'd have considered really super close friends at multiple points in my life.

JT has his own depression issues to deal with, stemming from problems more "real" than mine, and he's taken to isolating himself as well, possibly due to pride, possibly due to depression itself. YS is the busy bee workaholic as usual. JJ, while well meaning doesn't really offer the best or most insightful of advice. My family is at a total loss for how to help me. My cousins just think I have an attitude problem and want me to change who I am to fit into society, something I can't do.

And then there's Cypy and JK.

At this point, is it even fair to the word to still be calling them friends? I know I'm flip flopping a lot with my opinion on the two, especially Cypy, but it's just... maybe they're right. Maybe everybody is right. Maybe my head isn't right and I'm not thinking clearly. But right now, "fuck them all" mode is firmly engaged.

In my most needy and darkest times, those two find me an irritance. Cypy might've given actual, legit advice at the start, but slowly, she too is growing weary of my shit and neediness, and starting to lose her temper at me because none of the advice she gives me seem to be working and she's blaming me for it. Behind my back they are gossiping. They're starting to withdraw themselves from me. I'm not hearing about their lives anymore.

At least Cypy, when prompted and pushed far enough, is willing to tell these things to me straight up. Jk is the person who's simply "too nice" to dirty her own hands with having to turn me down directly, instead resorting to complaining to Cypy. Yeah, maybe I'm super needy. Maybe I'm a little insensitive. Maybe I forget some things. Maybe a combination of any of the above makes me not realise I'm being a complete dickbag. What the hell is gossiping behind my back to do or prove? Way I see it, you girls just don't want to be the "bad people" to end a friendship, and so you'd rather stand quietly by, not wanting to be my friend anymore, while pretending to still be my friend in case one day I do get better and can then be of some use for you to squeeze. Or, I dunno, maybe when your birthday rolls around or when McDonald's releases a new line of Hello Kitty toys would you then try to squeeze me for presents or Kitties because you don't want to fatten your glorious selves to get the plush toys you want and therefore you send me to do it. Why the hell else would you talk to me on your own free will?

If being my "friend" is so difficult, then why the hell even keep pretending? What am I gonna do if you tell me straight up you don't want to be my friend, huh? Make international news headlines that Cypy and JK are complete assholes and that nobody else should befriend/ love/ hire them? Is being the "bad person" that difficult for you? Does it stain your pretty fucking hands so much? Even in the end, do you still gotta make me do for you the honour of ending it myself?

Why the hell are people even like this...?

Over the course of seven and a half years it's not like it's been smooth sailing for us. But I've always presevered and sucked it all up, thinking that you were one of my very few "true" friends that stood by me in my then darkest times. I've come to see that that really was a whimsical decision, made on the basis of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend", instead of personal goodwill. Over the years, time and time again I've been hurt by your insensitivity and you've shown that you'll never learn and you'll never change. Through it all I too couldn't be the bad guy. I didn't want to believe these negative voices in my head when it came to you. I wanted "true friendship" to mean so much more. I really did want it to mean that we'd never have a disagreement so big it'd literally make one or both of us sick of each other, to want to end this friendship that stemmed from a time when it was actually possible to make friends that mattered that much.

But of course inevitably I'd have to ask myself, "is this suffering silently on your behalf worth it?", and, of course, "what are friends for, if not to support you through your times of crisis and need?" How much can I trust a person that gets sick of me and won't even dare tell it to my face if or when I do get better and recover?

I'm sick of your games of gossiping, passive aggression, and just being a total jackass in general. Both of you. This is me exploding. This is me cutting the both of you out for the rest of my life. Now that Cypy has graduated and has all the goddamned time in the world she STILL doesn't want to meet me. I don't want your fucking pity. I don't want to have to threaten to jump just for you to begrudgingly meet me for a dinner to act like you still give a damn. I'm just sick and tired. Sick and tired.

And quite frankly I think it's healthier for me this way.

Friday, September 1, 2017
betrayal
I realise that everything I said in the last two posts came from a very, very dark place, the depths of which I haven't been to in a good 7 or so years. I realise everything was rashly formulated, and there was seriously something wrong with my head when I said everything that I did. I even felt as if, had I a loaded handgun under my pillow then, I'd almost with cruise control like inhumanity take it and clock myself one in the back of my head.

But I'm not here to take any of it back.

If Cypy were reading this, no doubt she'd immediately blame this decision on my "senseless" male pride. And maybe she's right to some extent; after all, which self respecting man could take anything else he says seriously if he could go back on his own words like that, especially ones that were said so strongly?

The common consensus is that people suffering from depression don't have a clear head and can't make the most rational of decisions. To me, though, I'm beginning to find that, perhaps it's only etiquette and what we're conditioned to think is acceptable and sensible to say, that makes us think and view those explosions as irrational and not made of sound judgment. As I've said, I'm not here to take back any of what I said in those moments. I stand by them because I believe in what I said to be the truth. It may be a very exaggerated truth with aggression turned up to eleven, but what do you expect when you have years upon years of pent up frustration eating you from the inside out like that, yet still having to pretend you're okay, and that everything is fine, right?

I've yet to mention this anywhere, but I've actually been to my first, and thus far only counselling session this past Monday. Oh, and also a call to the SOS hotline because I promised to before trying anything stupid. One of the takeaways that both sessions had corroborated is that it's okay to be myself and believe in myself, that I am a good person with strengths and values that are very rare in today's society. And that's why it's so, so hard for me to fit in, but I should never stop believing in myself, because even if I were to change into anything else in bid to be successful, whatever that may mean for anyone, I'd never be truly happy. That's just glossing over it though, the nitty gritty details are out of the scope of this post.

And I truly feel like they're both bitches. I really am disappointed in both of them.

Blowing off JK? Yeah sure whatever. That's a storm that had already been brewing beyond the horizon for years. But Cypy is the one that really plants the huge seed of doubt and second guesses in me. Hell, even today when I'm out in a mall, at a Kiddy Palace. I see Sylvanian Families and I immediately think, "hmm, what would make a great next gift for her?", before remembering that, oh yeah, I swore to cut them off for the rest of my life, didn't I? Damn.

Now that I'm "sober", for the lack of a better term, I do start to feel that it's a stupid decision to swear off cutting off Cypy for the rest of my life. I get that her University work and group projects are insanely time consuming and draining. I know I did say that her dedication with reckless abandon to a task she sets her mind on is one of the things I loved about her. And maybe the fact that she actually asked me out for dinner on her own accord after she told me she's sick of my shit and after I stopped bugging her suddenly weighed a lot more on my mind. She didn't make it in the end because of her extreme pain from her period as she told me she might, but the bottom line is we didn't meet and that was all that mattered to me yesterday.

It's not something I can really put into words, but the pain was super agonising. Super debilitating. The hopelessness was all consuming. It pushed my mind into a fear ridden, panic driven state, and desperation was priming me to do something really, really stupid, like taking my own life. I was fucking downright inconsolable. I even screamed at my cat multiple times and scared her in that state. I needed help. I literally felt like I could fucking die at any moment. It was a horrible mix of misery, fear, desperation, loneliness... and I didn't know how to deal with it. The Cider I bought as a last ditch brain shut downer didn't do shit for me. I was so, so scared, like I've never been of anything else my whole life. My parents are over in Taiwan having a well deserved vacation, my sister is having her night classes in Uni, and I was just... all alone.

The one thing that perhaps might've saved me was just... Cypy. Of course I'd say that I'd love to have her to hold and her chest to cry on, but honestly something more realistic like just her being by my side and talking to me, perhaps just a smile or a selfie of her would be enough to tell me that she's there for me, that somebody wants me still, that I still had some hope and a place left in the world. I was so close to asking her, too. But then I remember that she thinks talking to me is stressful, frustrating, and that even her, the most accepting and patient of people in my life outside my family, would blow her top on me for even me asking for a selfie because I miss her like crazy especially in her Uni days... I just couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to. I was shivering with my phone in my hand at the thought of messaging her, someone whom I thought I could trust my everything to, whom I could share the rest of my life with.

Thoughts of suicide hanging above my head like a guillotine, of course desperation would make me inclined to use that as a huge bargaining chip to get her to meet me. I did it once, so why wouldn't I do it again? Pride, that's what. The "senseless", male pride she hates so much in both me and her father. Pause and think about it for a moment: if I really forced her out like that, how sincere would she be? Would she really want to help me and see me get better, or is she doing it because of the senseless etiquette of fake kindness? I don't want her fucking pity; I want her love and support. Threatening to kill myself was only going to get me her physical presence at best, nothing more, possibly even a lot less than even that. And, as I've said before, no matter how much I love a woman, or anything in life, having to genuinely feel like I could kill myself just to net myself a meet with her? I couldn't keep a charade of that calibre up even if you held my entire family at gunpoint and threatened me to.

And that's when it hit me, you know? Perhaps that heightened mental state of panic and scrambling for help and answers accelerated the thought processes, but a hit is a hit.

I say I love this woman. I say I want to trust her with my everything and spend the rest of my life with her. Her and no one else. But, even if by some goddamned miracle and a half that she one day reciprocated my love for her and we become a couple, how much can I trust this woman to stay by my side in my darkest moments, that may reach even deeper depths than what I'm feeling now? From where can I draw the faith that she'd stay by my side when I've lost everything? I couldn't. I simply couldn't. There was simply nothing to hold onto.

I understand her frustration and I understand that, up till very recently Uni work was keeping her busy to the point where she couldn't even find time to walk the dogs she loves and treasures more than arguably any human being in her life. I get that I play second fiddle to her dogs. But I think, counselling and that call to the SOS hotline has made me realise that perhaps I really do pay too little attention to myself, my own wants and needs, and instead always wanting to please others and bend to their will. I was losing my fucking mind. I literally felt like any moment could be my last. I could've fucking died. It wasn't just yesterday; yesterday was a super heated and explosive example. Every day leading up to this from gosh knows when, I've wanted to fucking die.

And her grades, her Uni cert, was more important than my well being. My entire fucking life. I could've died while she was mugging for her exams.

I'm sorry, but I just can't take it anymore. Even typing this now I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. You have no idea how utterly and devastatingly hurt I am, and I'm not nearly good enough a writer to convey it.

Being a grown ass 23 year old man with very little friends, to all of which he holds closely with stupid loyalty, perhaps I'm learning this too late, but perhaps adult betrayals aren't as clear cut and immediate as the one I experienced as a teen that scarred me for life. Perhaps I've been betrayed. Perhaps they don't even want to dirty their own hands with the official severing of ties.

You betrayed my trust. And it hurts. It hurts like fucking hell. It hurts to stupefying, debilitating levels. It hurts so much that I don't even know if I'll ever be able to find another woman that'd mean so much to me, that'd share the same chemistry we have, that'd make me feel as cared for and special as you did.

I just don't trust you anymore. When you can value achievements on paper over my whole goddamned life. And, trust is like a piece of paper. Once you crush it, you can try stretching it back, but it'd never be the same again. I can't trust you, either of you, ever again.

3rd August 2018
I wonder if anyone would feel guilty or relieved if I were to off myself.
I hope her boyfriend can live with himself, and her.