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
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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.
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.
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