ACS30012020

As January 2020 comes to a close, I just want to remind myself that I'm... well, I hesitate to say it now in spite of coming here to specifically say it, but I'm okay.

Not perfect, obviously. I still feel down, angry, sad, tired, and empty for seemingly no reason oftentimes. I still unconditionally hate myself for reasons beyond my understanding. I still think I'm much better off dead and still wish that I were... wow, not a great sales pitch for "I'm okay", is it? And people tell me I'd make a great car salesman, pah.

I haven't cried (much...) the past two weeks. I haven't had sleepless nights where feelings of emptiness and longing seemingly tear my soul apart. I haven't flown into blind, uncontrollable rages. I can actually think about things other than my overwhelming feelings, and even concentrate sometimes. I suppose it helps that my parents are away for a vacation for ten days so I don't have to deal with their bullcrap. I know it's an extremely low bar to set, but at this point in my life, "I'm okay" simply means I am somewhat functional. That I don't actively try to take my own life. That I don't routinely scream at and hurt those who love me the most. But even things that seemingly should be taken for granted are huge achievements and milestones for me. Maybe I'm just cut from a different cloth. Or maybe I'm just too damaged for usual norms and standards to apply to - not that it has ever stopped being slapped across my face, but you get the point.

And so, I have actually applied for a few jobs. Very. Few. I think people usually apply for 20, or maybe even 50 jobs at once when seriously job hunting, but I've applied for... 4, 3 of which are the same company. I am horrendously picky with people, to my detriment, even if experience tells me it is wholly warranted and would not allow otherwise. I am still largely disinterested in life in general, which means also that I am disinterested in most jobs. The 4 I've applied for are all automotive jobs that hopefully have some semblance of civility in them, because for some doggone reason, the automotive industry here seems to be relegated to the "lowly educated", and therefore most of the time, uncouth and vulgar among us, most of whom are foreigners that employers don't have to pay much for, anyway. I'm done working with and for gorillas. In fact, I would even go as far as to say I'm done with people in general. I've had way too much bullshit from people my entire life, from school, to slavery, to work, both in a prim and proper office and in an "uncouth" workshop. I have come to see that we are, for the most part, myopic, selfish, and cruel. If I won the lottery tomorrow and could live off of that modestly for the rest of my life, I would. But hey, I'm not asking for a miracle here. Sometimes I need to give myself a chance to do something new and prove old ideas wrong, even if it is the literal equivalent of sticking grenades into your ass and hoping the pin doesn't dislodge when you understandably squirm.

I'm no psychologist nor philosopher, but I genuinely believe that society is flawed and broken beyond rational belief. I know, I hate to be that guy as well, but it's what I genuinely believe in and I'm looking to vent in my personal space and time, okay? Common sense tells us life isn't easy, yet social etiquette commands us to discourage and even forcefully prevent suicide for those that can't handle the pain. I find it weird why, of the 7 days in a week, we work for a disproportionate 5. We're encouraged to have a work-life balance, yet it is admirable to give it your all, your "105%" as it were, at your job, leaving nothing for your private time. And when you do, you're viewed as a tryhard, an ass kisser, trying to gun for a promotion at the expense of your colleagues, instead of being viewed as trying to benefit the company, to do right by the customer, to encourage and inspire further growth, etc.. Why the hell does seniority still provide unspoken, yet palpable power in the office, especially when it's clear that they're only there desperately hanging onto their position to provide for themselves, and offer near zero value to the company? Why are these people allowed to politic and bully newcomers into dark, helpless corners? Why do human beings do this to their fellow human beings? How can this be socially acceptable? How do we talk about these things, how do we quantify and prove the existence of such an invisible problem no one can deny? Why don't we talk about these things more often? Why aren't there laws against this? How am I supposed to give my best and my all to a company if I have to deal with collateral bullshit like that? Why am I never given any training at all at my previous jobs yet still expected to perform? Do schools teach us ready-to-apply skills for the workforce? Were schools ever expected to? I was under the impression schools were a joke for the exact reason of tossing everything at you BUT that. Why am I always told to improvise, to lie, to butter up a crap sandwich for the customers? Yet when I improvise, it's wrong, it's problematic, etc.? Why does it feel like there's a "common sense" module I've missed in school? Why is it so universally applicable and expected of me? How the hell am I to know what the fuck I'm to do if all my superiors are busy with their day jobs? Why do we insist on wearing thick, uncomfortable, restrictive formal wear in this hella hot place? Why are women required to wear heels that hurt, etc.? It's all so fucking arbitrary, and it seems to me like to be "normal" in this crazy world is to understand and play along with the craziness of it. That is to say, it's normal to be insane, and I feel like I'm the only sane person in this world sometimes.

Maybe I'll get used to it. Maybe I'll learn the madness and how to play along with it. It's just that it's still a sucky proposition from where I'm sitting right now, and I have no doubt in my mind it will be a very long, arduous, and very, very painful journey to learn something I don't want to learn, just to survive. To be alive is to be insane. Maybe I'll learn to be the monsters I see some day.

Then again, who am I to say what's right and wrong, what's sane and what's insane? It's all relative, isn't it? I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is that I have a horrible time trying to make any sense of this mess of a world I find myself in. Who am I to say that hurting others is wrong, or shouldn't be allowed? I think fighting is just a part of life, just a part of nature. It's apparent even in animals, not just humans. In a civilised world, where physical violence is outlawed because we pretend to care, we have to find other ways of hurting others in the fight that is life. And if I can't find it in me to knowingly and willingly hurt others, then is that to say that I don't deserve to be alive? That I have no place in this world? It's funny, isn't it? It's laughable, isn't it? That I have been hurt endlessly my whole fucking life, yet instead of lashing back, I find myself with empathy. I find myself with kindness. I find myself unable to hurt others. What a goddamned joke I am.

God someone with a shotgun just off me already.

ACS230120: Responsibility

Dear Diary,

It's been a good, long, proper while since I last felt so ready to die. I was stable for the past several months, thanks in no small part to █. But now that she's gone, and with a separation that was less than ideal I suspect for the both of us, I have been very. fucking. miserable the past two weeks or so. I think I screamed pretty much every day at small annoyances. I flew into a blind rage zone once or twice. I wanted to cry so many times. I never wanted to wake up. I never wanted to do anything. I was tired all the time. I felt like I was never going to seek help again, and in turn, that I was never going to get any better. Pretty classic depression symptoms. Oh, and have I also mentioned? I stopped taking my meds without consulting my doctor because I don't want to go back to IMH again, because it reminds me so much of █, and I honestly feel like the trip to and from IMH and the 30 minute wait after my appointment is scheduled to start is worth the 10 minutes I'll spend talking to the doctor, only to say, "take these same meds more and tell me how you feel 4 months from now", just isn't worth it.

In my small window of stability, I did catch myself wondering, "What exactly was so different?", "How would I explain this to my past self, that wished with every fibre of his body except for his balls that he could die?" The reason I never wrote about it any sooner was because I never felt like I had a good answer to that. I think I had enough encouragement, progress, and support to make my every day suck less, so I wouldn't be preoccupied with debilitating misery all the time. Suicide has been the most difficult thing I have wanted to do my entire life, by leaps and bounds. I can never bring myself to do it, because my life isn't all hopeless misery. I still have things I live for. I'm a big fucking pussy who's afraid of a little pain too, whose primal instincts prevent him from taking that leap or swallowing those pills. And so if I have any alternative to suicide to ease my pain; any at all, it would almost certainly be the easier way out than suicide for me personally. Paying a heavily subsidised fee to talk to a highly attractive, listening, understanding, supportive woman for an hour a month? I could do that in my fucking sleep.

I flip flop weirdly between two polar opposites of what is arguably the same coin when it comes to thoughts of suicide: when I'm miserable, I think I'm the only sane person alive, and suicide is the very logical, calculated move; and that everyone else who isn't wanting to kill themselves are the ones that are sick, not me. Yet, when I'm stable, I think the opposite: that you really did have to be sick to want to kill yourself, even if I couldn't make sense of that line of thinking. It would be akin to asking why you don't cough when you aren't sick. It's... just the way things naturally are. It's just the way things naturally are for a healthy person to not even think about suicide, let alone consider it seriously and fantasise about it. Does it make sense? Not really. Then again, life never did make much sense did it?

I think the immense pain I feel forces me to a logical corner in my head, wherein I am forced to think of solutions to make the pain go away. But the thing is, not every problem has a (practical) solution. Life isn't perfect and we all know that. Hence why it still surprises me that people are still surprised when they meet someone suicidal. That, in my head, is akin to someone being so shocked to learn that someone else has caught the flu. It's really fun to juxtapose their shock and horror with someone coming down with a cold. I just happen to have had that cold for half my life now. And it's a cold that medication alone doesn't make go away. And I think, being forced into the corner of corners, my brain overloads. The immense pressure from several different problems from different aspects of life, each requiring very different solutions, makes me jam. And if you can't fight, you flight. And therein comes suicide.

I feel like I'm a good for nothing that can never hope to get any better. I can't deal with being "just" a client anymore. I can't deal with being abandoned anymore. And therefore, I can't deal with therapy anymore. And yet, medication feels to me like only 5% of the fight. I know what I need but I don't know how I'm supposed to get what I need. I find grave faults with things I really used to enjoy, like Pokémon and Gran Turismo, and swore off them till they show they can improve. I don't even know how much of it is my "depression voice" talking and how much of it is legitimate complaints. I have no joy left in my life anymore. If I wake up only to scream at those that love me the most, I don't deserve to be conscious. I do not deserve to be a financial and emotional burden to my family any longer, especially if I can't even promise, or hope, to get better. I know suicide is generally accepted to be a very selfish and cheap thing by politically correct mass media, but somehow, this just... feels right. This just feels responsible, somehow. That I end this mess I created. That I, who has nothing to contribute to this world, exit ASAP. You wouldn't keep an incapable employee in your company, who keeps drawing pay, would you? I feel the same with life as a whole.

I just wish I had the fucking balls to take responsibility for the fucking failure that I am.

things, things, and more things

090120

Today has come and gone
Just like any other day
But you have left me
For the last time today

I went home like any other day
Did my things, listened to my music
Trying not to think too much
Yes, this is just like any other day
I have been blessed today by you
And I'll have to take that blessing to better myself
Just like any other day

I become a better man with every hour I spend with you
Till death does me part with your unconditional love
Your smile eternally alluring, your personality unwaveringly addictive
It is just business as usual for you
The prostitute of the mind
And I fucking love you for it

I tried to get it out when I'm alone
But it never feels like we ever have enough time
It's okay, I'll amend it the next session
I'll tell it to you straight first thing so I don't forget
It is business as usual to never have enough time
Business as usual to eagerly await my next sunrise

We've had all agonising eternity to prepare for it
Yet I could not find the time to say goodbye
And now I try to not have time
To cry over the loss

I wonder how long it will be before I realise
That I can no longer exhale
How long it will be before I realise
That the world has gone darker forever
That the sun won't rise tomorrow
That there won't be love set aside for me tomorrow
That I will never bleed again
That, in lieu of you, I will have to love myself

A desperate, fading image
A memory clear as day, yet so hard to believe
I will have to be kind to myself
Now that you're not here
I wouldn't want you to be sad
I wouldn't want you to be angry
I wouldn't want to creep you out
But there's only so much a man can't do

You're just around the corner
Business as usual
But there's only so much a man can do
Without you

I wonder how long it will be before I break again
I wonder if I'll be able to hold it all together
I wonder how long now before realisation hits
That no one is here to service me anymore

I could moan about my feelings for the next ten years
But what would any of it mean if nobody's listening?
I would gladly be sick for the next ten years
Just to spend another two with you
I have said everything that I could
And still I had to watch you leave
I have repressed everything I didn't want to feel
And still I couldn't hold onto you
Nothing I say or feel has any weight anymore
If I could not have you with me
You are like the mother that was never here
The lover I never had
You are everything to a man
And I only loved you for it
Is that really so awful?
I'm sorry but I don't know how else I'm supposed to feel.

14-1-20

It's hard sometimes to even breathe without you
I hate these feelings of fragility
Like any slight whiff would knock me over
I hate when I have to do anything real
Because it just reminds me of how little I'm capable of
I hate when I have to write about myself
Because this is always my first and last resort
When I'm all out of other distractions
I hate these feelings of inadequacy when I'm alone
And I want you here as the cheap way out

And yet I
Don't know how to face you now that you're gone
Everything I try to fill this void just makes me all the more ashamed
And yet I
Don't know how to face you now that you don't want to see me
I know this is wrong but I only know you'll always be right

Why couldn't you be any less perfect?
You could've at least screamed and shouted at me
If you'd at least beat me black and blue
The pain would make all this so much easier
Why couldn't you be the villian in this story?
I cannot bring myself to hate you
And it's driving me insane

And now I
Don't know how to face you now that you're gone
Every tumble I take makes me feel like I've failed you
And now I
Don't know how else to tell you what I feel
Our time has come and gone but these feelings never went away

I'm so afraid of standing on my own two feet
Everything I do feels hollow and meaningless
If I can't tell them to you in our own special place
I'm so afraid of being disinterested in my own life
If I can't turn it into something to share with you
I'm so afraid of taking another chance again
I might find another you but is it really so wrong to only want you?

I know
I know you can't be with me forever
But it's only now that I realise
I wish we could pretend you could
I know
I know I can't be like this forever
But it's only now that I realise
I cannot do this without you

You're nowhere near being done with me
Come back here and take responsibility
You fucking whore
I will need you for the rest of my life
And there is nothing you can do to change my mind

vent

I am tired of feeling so much
Useless things that go nowhere and do nothing
Why is being alive such a difficult task?
Whose doing is this, and why don't I feel the desire to fight back?
I hate all these senseless, useless questions
I am tired of doubting so much
I just want all this pain to end
Is that really so hard to understand?
I've a bag of sleeping pills that don't cure insomnia
And several other habits I'm being told are unhealthy
But it keeps me going and isn't that what everyone wants?
I haven't the balls to swallow a few pills
I haven't the motivation to make anything better
I am never going to feel better
The very definition of a useless sack of shit
A waste of space, an eyesore, a disappointment
I can neither accept nor ever forgive
And yet everyone tells this guy to stay alive
To what possible end?

I feel like being a depressive sack of shit today
I'm too tired to hold up a heavy mask today
There's no rhyme nor reason to it
No greater cause, no poetic message
I'm sick and I know it
I'm miserable for reasons I can't even count
Life happens, shit happens
And no one else is going to change my mind
I feel like throwing up a little more than usual today
Everyone's watching, only to gawk and laugh
If only I were as apathetic as the monsters that populate my view

It's shocking what we can get used to
Don't glorify fighting to me any longer
I am just too tired to fight
I'd maybe be a martyr if this had all been for something personally tangible
But all I got was a poor sales pitch for what a man should be
My life is my own and no one else's
I've given too much and got too much nothing back
Just because we get used to it doesn't make it right
Used to think that I was the sick sheep in the pack
But I think now I realise I'm the only one that's making sense
In trying to make sense of the pain within,
I lost sight of everything before my eyes
And I want to cut my losses today and walk away
Live my own way and die like a man.

I feel like being myself today
A sack of shit that wants to die
For no rhyme nor reason
Other than the fact that this is my life
And I want to take it
I'm already dead on the inside
Might as well go all the way
If happiness comes from within, shouldn't sadness as well?
I'm just sick and tired of living with someone
Who pushes all my buttons and makes me scream with every little twitch
I am sick and tired, I hate myself
What's the point of waking up on any morning
If I'm only going to scream and shout and break something
Does everybody hate me?
Is that why they want me alive?

I wish I knew to be this honest and open
Before it came to this

Last Gash

Due to a few hiccups, my last session with █ happened on the 9th instead of the 10th. I really liked it as usual, spitefully cold central air conditioning and fake windows that can't be opened and all. It's just that, because it was such a hurriedly booked time and place, there had been another therapist and her client that had needed the room immediately after our hour was up, when I specifically and explicitly told █ that I most likely will go overtime. I've always found it strange how psychotherapy at IMH gives you the full and exact hour of therapy, instead of something like 50 minutes, so that the therapist can finish writing notes, keying in entries into the computer, or maybe even having a sip of water and taking a piss in between clients. It's a tightly packed system that just breeds bleed overs, so, you can sorta imagine an 8-9 session bleeding five minutes, the 9-10 session another 5, and by the time the 10-11 patient arrives they may have to wait ten minutes before their session starts, for example. I've had to wait near 20 minutes one time and I was even wondering "did I get the time and/ or date wrong?!" in typical post trauma oversensitive paranoia, even if the damn receipt, my appointment card and my phone with online synced date and time were staring me in my face.

Wow Jesus that rant came out of nowhere. Honestly, an hour doesn't feel nearly enough for me personally, most of the time. I'd suggest they book 1.5 hour session with a half hour break after for the therapists, but the waiting times for therapy is already insane enough on its own as it is now. Heh, goes to show how fucked up the world we live in is, eh? Eyyy, I managed to squeeze that in somehow!

When █ called me to inform me of the change, I specifically told her I might need more than an hour, because I highly suspect I would be bawling my eyes out at the end. Not to mention, we even had plans to write a whole improv story together, which in itself might take up the whole hour, not to mention I had great news to share with her regarding me joining an Iaido class and the accompanying gashing that comes with it. I know it's not fair, strictly speaking, but I feel like I deserved just a little bit of goodwill after losing my fucking therapist and one of my very few support pillars in my life. I just feel that being rushed out the door was in extremely poor taste, okay? They even had someone phone the room at about 10:05 to rush us out. It's sort of like rushing someone out of a funeral because the void deck needed to host an auction, or something. I know I only paid for an hour, but... times like these where I feel a little leniency, goodwill, and flexibility would've gone a long way. Not gonna lie, it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth even today.

As a result, the story we were writing and just starting to get into was rushed into a limp dick ending, and it shows. And this was going to be my final memento of the woman that meant the world to me. Most egregious of all is that I wasn't given the time to properly mourn the loss. I couldn't even properly get into the quiet, slow, deliberate mood to properly process the loss and grieve. We parted ways like two friends on the street at the end of the day, believe it or not. I didn't get to say all that I needed to. I didn't get the time to cry... nothing.

As if the loss itself wasn't hard enough to swallow on its own, now I'm entirely pissed off as icing on the cake.

As we were leaving the room, █ quickly asked me, "how are you feeling?", as if I had the time to give her a proper answer, which could be extrapolated into, "as if it fucking matters how I feel". I just told her, "it will come later". And, surprisingly, it was a lot later than I had expected. I had expected to start bawling uncontrollably when taking a shit in the toilet next to the psychotherapy centre immediately after. It didn't come. I thought I might bawl in bed. It didn't come. I waited and waited and waited, but it just would not come. I might have been in some sort of denial for a few days, because it all felt so normal, too normal, because I wasn't given the fucking chance to let sink in that █ is leaving me forever. Yeah, I'll tell her that next session. I'll tell her first thing so I don't forget. There's going to be a next session. There always is. █ is an integral part of my life and sanity.

On a Sunday night/ Monday morning, it came. Rather unexpectedly actually. And it came with Linkin Park's song, Faint.

Linkin Park - Faint

I am a little bit of loneliness, a little bit of disregard
Handful of complaints but I can't help the fact
That everyone can see these scars
I am what I want you to want, what I want you to feel
But it's like no matter what I do, I can't convince you
To just believe this is real
So I let go watching you turn your back like you always do
Face away and pretend I'm not
But I'll be here 'cause you're all that I've got

I can't feel the way I did before
Don't turn your back on me
I won't be ignored
Time won't heal this damage anymore
Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored

I am a little bit insecure, a little unconfident
'Cause you don't understand I do what I can
But sometimes I don't make sense
I am what you never want to say, but I've never had a doubt
It's like no matter what I do I can't convince you for once just to hear me out
So I let go watching you turn your back like you always do
Face away and pretend I'm not
But I'll be here 'cause you're all that I've got

I can't feel the way I did before
Don't turn your back on me
I won't be ignored
Time won't heal this damage anymore
Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored

You hear me out now
You're gonna listen to me like it or not
Right now, hear me out now
You're gonna listen to me like it or not
Right now

I can't feel the way I did before
Don't turn your back on me
I won't be ignored

I can't feel the way I did before
Don't turn your back on me
I won't be ignored
Time won't heal this damage anymore
Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored
I can't feel
Don't turn your back on me
I won't be ignored
Time won't heal
Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored

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

I lament it but I hardly do a damn thing about it; I don't spend nearly enough time listening to music. I don't mean listening to music in restaurants, in events, in parties, or on the radio. I don't even mean listening to music in my personal playlist on the way to work in a train because there's literally nothing else to do kind of listen. I mean setting aside time to do nothing but listen to music. To properly give yourself the time and space to really immerse yourself into the music and let it move you. To allow yourself the chance to really feel the flow and ponder the meaning of the lyrics and life as a whole.

I recently downloaded the discography of Linkin Park, not because I'm interested in everything they do, but because there's this one obscure song that I can't find elsewhere, "My December". It's been a proper long while since I've been this moved by a song, and maybe that's because I haven't needed this sort of "music therapy" for a while. It only comes with the Japanese edition of their first album, Hybrid Theory. I know it's an old ass song, but it hits right at home for me right now, right down to the timing of it. I really like some of Linkin Park's works, and as god awful a thing to say as it must come across normally, I really look up to and admire the lead singer Chester Bennington, for not only being able to turn the shittiest of emotions into something that can genuinely make others' lives feel less alone, confusing, and shitty, but he had the balls to do what he kept saying he would: commit suicide. I love how it's the one slow ass song in the whole album, yet it doesn't feel completely alien and disjointed from their usual style; in fact, it all feels very familiar in spite of being so different. Even though the pacing and instrumentals are slow, the disc scratching wavering in the background, the slow rapping, makes it feel right at home with me, who's loved Linkin Park songs for longer than he can remember. It felt so different, but no less sincere. In fact, if anything, because it doesn't need to scream for the sake of screaming, or rhyme for the sake of excessive rapping, it felt a lot more honest to me. I love this song to bits and pieces. I really do.

Anyway, it's when I was looking through the discography that I just, for no real reason whatsoever, listened to a live performance of "Faint", a song from their second, and IMO best, album, "Meteora". It's a shockingly short song at less than three minutes, but it gets its message across loud, clear, concisely and decisively in those three minutes. It's a very aggressive, angry, in your face rap and scream affair as is most Linkin Park songs, but in that screaming, I hear and feel a very scared and lost child, in spite of how manly it feels. It's just one of those very magically inviting songs that I can't help but to sing/ scream along whenever it plays. And on that Sunday night, I screamed along silently to it, and I found myself finally crying after waiting so long for it.

"Face away and pretend that I'm not, but I'll be here because you're all that I've got." "Time won't heal this damage anymore. Don't turn your back on me, I won't be ignored." It's so magical how strong and manly these few lines in particular sound, especially with Chester's delivery, yet these words by themselves are so... vulnerable. Scared. Lost. Desperate. And the verses each build up so spectacularly to it. I just don't have the words for it. I cried. Maybe only a little, but I cried nonetheless. I've never cried listening to a song before, and this seems like a mighty odd choice to be the first.

I then find out later that, in the rush to leave, █ neglected to let me fill out a Questionnaire. It's the usual, standard depression questionnaire thing, which I'm sure has a proper name that I'm too lazy to look up. It was precisely in my much needed moment of grieving that I opened up my personal email and saw the messages from █, one on the Thursday itself, and one this past Monday. To be honest, that really pissed me off too. Then again, given my mood the past 4 and a half days that I've been █less, that's not exactly saying much. I spent all this time telling myself it's over and that I'll never ever see her again. I've fought against denial, longing, anger, sadness, everything, for the sole and explicit reason that she will no longer be a part of my life, so her suddenly popping up, even in a brief email, really set me off. I feel played, even though I know it's not suuuuper her fault. I'm not the kind of person to give someone a hard time over normal, everyday mistakes, but this one really did push my buttons, especially because I already have a hard enough time dealing with loss. Look, I'm not in the best of shape right now, okay? It doesn't take a trained psychologist to tell. At this stage I don't even know how long it'll be until I'm ready to look for a job again, or if I ever will feel ready to. I've written like, three proses in the span of four days, which has got to be a new world record or something, or at least, a personal one. I've... never been so... distraught, yet this sound of mind before. This is all an exercise in the extremely sterilised and healthy break-up, and I'm still not very sure what to make of it, and my reaction to it as I'm living through it right now.

The improv story I proposed we co-author was pretty limp dick because it was rushed. It had moments of brilliance in it, and █ wasn't skimping on effort, either. It's wholly the time constraint that made the story a small fraction of what I had hoped it could be.

And, you know, maybe it's my fault. Maybe it's my fault for being a dumbass and needing so many hours and sessions to just learn how to say goodbye like a normal person. Maybe it's my fault I've had a shit childhood and upbringing that made me overly sensitive to people leaving me. Maybe it's my fault that I couldn't fix myself in the near two years I've been seeing her. Maybe it's my own dumbass fault that I couldn't come up with a memento activity until the second last session I had with █. Maybe it's my dumbass fault for taking so long to join Iaido. All my fucking fault.

No, of course I don't believe it's my fucking fault. I'm just angry and I need to shout a little, if only in writing.

I have underwent such a profound level of healing in my 20 months (?) with █. Before I met her, I was getting bounced around by mental health professionals, who kept insisting that I take pills that don't magically make me happy, some of whom were appallingly unprofessional and complacent. Can you fucking imagine walking into a mental health institute, telling the receptionist as best as you can that you would hurt someone if you went to work next morning, and that you desperately needed someone to talk to, only to get tossed into this room with a "psychiatrist" sitting so slumped in his chair both his feet are poking through the desk in front of you? Wearing SLIPPERS. Insisting on calling and informing your family despite strong resistance from the fucking patient, whose best interests I could've goddamned sworn you were supposed to serve as long as you weren't being a threat to others or yourself. Whose response was to prescribe generic ass antidepressants and tell you to report back a month later after you pour your fucking heart out. THAT was how low my experiences with mental health professionals had sunk prior to meeting █. At that point, I really didn't care what it took to make the pain go away, be it meds, psychotherapy, or suicide. I didn't know what the hell I needed to feel better, and neither did these professionals, who are professionals only in the strictest definition of the word: making a living off worsening others' misery and sullying the name of an all too important service.

You can then hopefully imagine my hopes and mindset when I had my first session with █. I had expected more of the same rubbish. But she listened. She took in what I said. Her face visibly contorts with pain when I lay it on her. I felt listened to and understood. I felt cared for. And, no matter how doom and gloom I had been walking into every session with her, she always had a way to make me laugh at least once a session, without making me feel belittled. She gave real insight and advice. She points out tendencies and emotions I unknowingly suppress, and wants to know why I feel the way I do. She encourages me, recognises and points out my merits, and isn't biased enough to let my bullshit slide. She is someone who genuinely has my best interests at heart, going so far as to tell me that IMH waiting times are insanely long, and that, if I weren't deserving or needing of her help like I kept fearing, she would tell me to save my money and fuck off. I cannot sing enough praise about her, I really cannot. I sincerely believe that she is a treasure of humanity that deserves to be protected at all costs and learned from at every opportunity. I believe any person or any organisation, in any position, in any capacity, would be lucky beyond belief to have her in their lives. I sincerely believe every hyperbole I type about her. And maybe she does have her own flaws, but the nature of our relationship is such that I never get to see them, and so I end up with a very idolised image of her in my head, but it doesn't mean that my time, my experience with her, means any less than the hyperbolic miracle to me.

Gosh I started to gash about her again. Where the fuck was I even going with this again? Oh, right. Now I remember.

Despite the endless heaps of praise I cannot finish lauding her with, I don't think I will ever seek professional mental help ever again in my life, through no fault of █'s, or even the rather bimbotic systems that she used to work for. This, and I mean this wholly, is a fault that is entirely of my own. I definitely need a non-judgmental listening, understanding ear. A shoulder to cry on. An unbiased insight, yet assuredly through her words and actions, have my best interests at heart. Someone to support me morally and hold me to my progress. I believe to some degree every human being needs that in their lives, mentally ill or not. It's just that I am unbelievably and bafflingly bad at boundaries in relationships. I am a very extreme person in the sense that I am either wholly uninvested, or fully in, with no in-betweens. If I were to have to trust and rely on someone to the degree that makes therapy a fruitful relationship, that person had better be my fucking wife. I will love her. I will never ever want to let them go. Selfish? Sure. But I also think it's just human nature. How could anyone in good conscience let someone who means this much go? The deprived me certainly can't.

And see, that's the thing. I feel like I need something way bigger than what therapy can give me, and to only have part of something I want hurts me like hell. I can't really draw a direct comparison to having a part of something you want versus having none of it at all in terms of the pain levels, but what I can say with absolute certainty is that I can deal with the pain of the latter better. If I am at my wit's and will's end and contemplating taking my own life, I don't want to have thoughts of someone who cares about me being devastated if I die. The same someone who I know would and could talk me out of taking my own life, but I can't call because I didn't have an appointment with her, and she has her own life to attend to. Someone whose number I can't have, someone who can't even be friends with me after therapy ends because she could lose her license if she did. I don't want to ever be stuck in that limbo again. I don't want to ever second guess myself anymore if I ever find myself at the precipice. If someone were to care for me, then they had better goddamned drop any and everything they're doing to rush to my side when I'm at my worst. If someone were to care for me, they had better not set a clock app to an hour and lay it on the table as we begin talking. I know this is all very fucking selfish, but this is what I want, and I would do the same for anyone else I loved.

I guess, what I'm trying to say is, I don't need a therapist. I need a wife. Someone whose best interests are my own well being. Because as I've found out, no matter how genuine and overflowing the care and concern a therapist can shower you with, you are always "just" a client, and their own lives, their own happiness, will always take priority over your own, and rightfully so I must add. I just can't bear the thought and feeling of not being top priority. I know this is all crazy, selfish speak, but this is how I feel goddamnit. And I want to express it. To someone who wouldn't judge. To someone who'd listen and try to understand. To someone that would remember. To █. I am still broken.  I am still a mess. And I just don't want anyone else to leave me anymore. I am lost, I am angry, I am sad, I am confused, just by being alive, just for being alive. All these emotions would be quarantined if █ were here with me, for me. And maybe these are all emotions that are better off solved than quarantined, but I can't do this on my own either way.