GTS Review: RE Amemiya Boost Up 7

Spoiler alert: I'm a fan of Mazda Rotary sports cars.

A car that has been on my wishlist of cars to appear in Gran Turismo Sport was the RE Amemiya μ過給圧上昇7, or the... uh... *checks Google translate* the Micro Boost Pressure Up 7. This thing.

The FD generation Mazda RX-7 is already on its own one of the finest handling, best looking sports car to ever see mass production, in my obviously biased opinion. However, as with most automotive fairy tales, the legend is only half in the machine, with the other half being in the culture it inspired, the competition it bred, and the memories it created for those lucky enough to be able to own one. That is to say, it's impossible to think of RX-7s without mentioning the still thriving aftermarket support for it; no surprise given how great a base for a performance car it is fresh from the factory: lightweight, low slung, low drag, wide spread 2 door body with a perfect 50/50 mass distribution, and a rev happy, compact engine up front driving the rear wheels.

And if one were to think of Rotary specialists in the aftermarket, most will, for good reason, first think of RE Amemiya. Founded by Isami Amemiya, the living legend has modified and raced his own Rotary Engine powered monstrosities in Yatabe, D1GP, and even GT300, and remains active to this day, still coming up with bespoke designs and wild concepts. The 2006 Micro Boost Pressure Up 7 that was last seen in Gran Turismo 6 however, is still by far my favourite FD ever. It retains the flowing, beautiful, natural curves and evocative shape of the FD, yet sports prominent aero parts that are not only fully functional, but seem to build off and further accentuate the pre-existing lines of the FD, instead of destroying them in the name of performance.

I fully admit I am biased, but I wholly believe that this is the sort of principle all aftermarket cars should aspire to, almost as though this car was some sort of tuning bible. So beautiful and so inextricably intertwined into Japanese car culture is this FD, that it looks equally at home in a bustling metropolitan city as it does an isolated mountain pass.

If I had the means to own an FD, I would spec it out EXACTLY like this one, aside from a few nitpicks. First off, I'd retain the pop up headlights, because, come on man, pop up headlights!

Aside from that, a pet peeve of mine is when cars don't come with a third brake light in the middle, or is somehow removed by the owner when de-winging their cars. Even the rear light cluster cover wasn't spared by RE Amemiya in the modification process, and is also a bespoke part, that's been pulled out to act as a small ducktail spoiler. I'm a massive fan of the part, but I really wish it kept the transparency and the middle brake light the stock FD had.

The in-game description of the Micro Boost Pr- look, can I just call it the Boost Up 7 from here on out? The Boost Up 7's in game description is surprisingly modest about the extensive list of changes this FD underwent to become to "Demon Lord of Mountain Passes", yet, I think it's a car that does all the speaking it needs to when you get behind the wheel. Aside from the visible aerodynamic parts, the car's chassis has been stiffened to confidence inspiring levels. The car's suspension was stiffed to more than three times its stock value, at around 18kg/mm, and visibly lowered. 5th and final gear ratios have been stretched out, though the car still retains a 5 speed manual, resulting in long gearing that is optimal for twisty mountain roads. The already spartan interior of the FD gains a power FC controller, bespoke, larger, more informative boost gauge than the pitiful one in the original that looked like an afterthought, and even a speedometer that doesn't max out mid fourth gear. The smallest details are just as important as the big performance changes: redline has been increased by about 500 to 8,500rpm, and the beeper that reminds drivers to shift up has been recalibrated accordingly to come on at 8,000rpm. It's little things like that that really tell me that this car is designed by and for someone who daily drives these things, which instills confidence beyond words, to me. Though, the last 500rpm has nothing really to offer, and is there moreso for engine braking, or for those pesky situations where you need to upshift, but you're fast approaching a corner. This is the one Rotary Engine car you might actually want to short shift at the stock redline of 8,000rpm, as heretic as it may sound.

Also, real quick: the turbo boost gauge in this car actually works! I am still unbelievably mad that the stock FD RX-7's turbo boost gauge in this game only toggles between full boost and no boost, nothing in between. But, hey, at least the gauge moved. The turbo gauge on the FC DOESN'T EVEN FREAKING WORK. I've lauded PD for their insane attention to detail in their cars, especially in this current generation, but wow, how could you miss something as big as a turbo boost gauge?!

A quick little fun fact: the stock radio unit in the JDM only RX-7 Spirit R is filled with atrocious English, as can be seen below:

Push LOAD buttin
Insert duscs after"IN" is displayed

I was genuinely curious as to whether the Boost Up 7 retained these... er... very charming quirks of the stock FD. The radio in the Boost Up 7 however, appears aftermarket as well. I wonder if Amemiya-san just didn't like the audio quality of the stock radio, or the English? Probably the English. Probably.

Surprisingly to me, this car comes fresh from Brand Central with Sports Hard tyres, down from the Sports Softs in GT6. I'm not sure if grip levels directly correlate from GT6 to GTS, but either way, the car feels most natural with Sport Softs, as though the car was set up with around that grip level in mind. With comfort tyres, um... well...

...you will basically never see your steering wheel straight again, as you adjust counter steering angles several times a second while the car hops over bumps, only to be immediately grounded and find grip again due to the spectacular aero of the car, all while the beefed up turbo tries to break the rear loose and the reinforced chassis struggles to keep all this mayhem in check. As beautiful as this car looks in pictures, I feel it really comes alive when viewed in motion.

I think easily the biggest difference I felt in the transition from 6 to Sport is that torque curves seem to be a lot better simulated now. I've heard journalists mention how, in the stock FD, the secondary turbo coming on mid corner can cause some hairy scenarios, yet I've never really had that problem in the confines of GT. Maybe it's because I'm sitting in my living room couch, isolated from the physical sensations a good sports car delivers. Maybe it's because the secondary turbo comes on at 4,500rpm in the stock car, and you're basically never dipping that low on the track. Maybe it's because the stock FD never did have that much power to begin with. In the Boost Up 7 though, holy HECK is it pronounced and scary. If you're used to driving Rotary Engine cars, you'd be hard wired to mash the throttle when revs are "low", because Rotaries are very peaky by nature, especially the turbocharged ones. When you mash the throttle in the Boost Up 7 however, it will freaking deliver. It won't even sound like much, but it will freaking deliver. Maybe it won't have the burnout in 4th style of torque muscle cars give you, and maybe it won't give you McLaren F1 throttle response, but it will still give you enough to break the rear tyres sideways if you're not careful, which, truth be told, is a hella scary combo. Oh, and have I mentioned? It's a rather thirsty beast, as Rotaries tend to be. Your rear end will be rapidly lightening over the course of an event, which further takes away from rear grip. If it's any saving grace though, the car retains its nimble, able, and willing handling up to and past its limits, which ironically I find makes it a phenomenal drift car, especially given it's willing and able to break its rear out over a wide rpm range. ...don't take my word for it, though. I can't and won't drift.

Sadly, while the car retains its agility and eagerness in corners, I feel that it has lost any and all of its predictability from 6 to Sport, and hence why I cannot consider it "Handling Nirvana" anymore. Don't get me wrong: on the Sports Soft tyres that I believe it should've come with, it's still an absolute joy to hoon around. I just find that its behaviour changes too much with mortality turned on; that is, the car's behaviour changes too much for my liking when tyre wear and fuel depletion comes into play. And, hey, maybe that was never a priority when RE Amemiya was setting this up for Touge runs in Hot Version. Maybe it's this car finally showing its age. Or maybe it's because I've been spoiled silly by all the bona fide racecars that are the main focus of GT Sport. I've even taken what I currently consider "Handling Nirvana", the Porsche Cayman GT4 Clubsport, and slapped Comfort Softs on it. Of course the pace fell, but its behaviour stayed very consistent with how it would usually handle. I'm probably doing something really asinine by downgrading tyres on a car, but as a street legal car you can drive daily if you're crazy enough, it's all the more important to me that its behaviour stays somewhat consistent, even as the pace falls. Of course, I put no other car to this test, but that's only because I expect and want so much more out of this car, because I love it so much.

That said, my ramble of a "review" is finally over! Enjoy the rest of the photos!

It still bugs the crap out of me that backfires don't look correct at all in panning shots. And so, I took it upon myself to masterfully edit both these standstill and speeding versions of the same shot together to form this absolute god tier class of Van Gothic edit... with MS Paint.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I literally just took the free form select tool, and with all the grace and precision of a drunk duck on land, cut out the still flames and pasted it onto the speeding shot. I think you can still see where the incision lines are, but at this moment this is the best I could do. Freaking GT Sport man. It's been a product that's always pushed me to better myself and explore new frontiers, be it competitive FIA races or just opening my eyes to SVGs in general, and here I am using MS PAINT to fix something that's been broken across multiple generations in the GT family.

Can I also complain about how frame by frame doesn't work properly, in that it doesn't produce smoke or water kick-up, let alone backfires? What even is the point of frame by frame?

In terms of sheer cool factor, 1.51 is right up there with the rain updates. I really love the aftermarket tuner vibe it had with the reintroduction of RE Amemiya and RUF.

Replicas

RIP Yamaji Shinichi. You will never be forgotten.

I chanced upon a tragic tale of a brutal accident that took place in 1998 at Fuji Speedway, which you can read more about here. To summarise, Oota Tetsuya crashed his F355 at the start of the race under severely disgusting conditions, and his car caught fire. Yamaji-san, in his Amemiya RX-7, immediately stopped his car to grab a fire extinguisher and put out the fire, saving Oota's life.

I believe the Amemiya GT300 machine Yamaji-san was driving is the same one featured in Gran Turismo 2, of which this livery is a replica of. It seemed too perfect to not bring this car back to Fuji to remember that tragic accident that, while disgusting in nature, has probably saved countless lives due to the changes it brought into motion. Unfortunately, Yamaji-san passed away in 2014 at age 50.

1998 RE Amemiya FD3S GT300 Livery by Not1Name Download Link.
[R] MAZDA RX-7 GT-C LM Livery by Skyline_539 Download Link.

Nostalgia overload time! I've never been a fan of these replica liveries, because the liveries all scream "racecar" while the body sheepishly whimpers "stock". The Boost Up 7 looks almost like a Gr. 4 machine if I dare say so myself, which makes it a way better candidate for these replica liveries.

~Type RZ 姉妹 Sisters~

1992 ɛ̃fini RX-7 Type RZ RE雨宮仕様 Livery by XSquareStickIt Download Link
2000 Mazda RX-7 Type RZ RE雨宮仕様 Livery by XSquareStickIt Download Link

I admittedly had way too much fun with this car, both on and off the track. This car doesn't come with any physical badging at all, only decals. So I had this brilliant idea of, "DUDE! What if I pretended this to be the Type RZ that got tuned by RE Amemiya?!" And so I dug out a rather obscenely traced RZ decal I made ages ago while learning how to do SVGs, and slapped it onto the car, along with period correct badging both front and rear.

In a photo shoot lobby with a friend, a stranger suddenly joined, and brought along a yellow Amemiya FD, clearly inspired by the one in Initial D driven by Takahashi Keisuke. Now, I'm not suuuper big on Initial D or anything, but I WAS driving a black FD, which was too much of a coincidence for me to not impromptu role play a bit. So... *clears throat*

Darling, please! Don't overtake me! I want you to watch me more! I never want you to stop watching me!

Me: omae wa mou shindeiru

Also me: NANI?!

Yes, this alien actually brought his FD back, from a 90 degree slide half off road! People who can drift are proof of extraterrestrial life.

Lastly, enjoy a video of my horrendous driving. Stock settings, default ABS, Comfort Soft Tyres.

ACS09022020: Not Good Enough

When I saw the title of this video, I raged quite hard internally. It was the first time I was so offended by anything on the internet, because that's such a silly fucking notion to me.

For as ridiculously flawed as the FD RX-7 is, hardly anyone says a bad thing about it. I think that's because the RX-7 has already achieved a legendary status among car enthusiasts, being a prominent highlight of the fabled 90's Japanese sports car boom. And as if the rose tinted glasses of nostalgia that's selling like sickening hotcakes today weren't enough on their own, this car is flawed in all the right and darling ways. It's horrendously thirsty for both fuel and oil. It's not exactly practical. It has a reputation for having sketchy at best reliability. It's difficult to get in and out of, even for the Japanese. But those are all endearing flaws and compromises because it is so focused on one and one thing only: to offer the driver the best driving experience ever. And to that end, by god does it deliver. Many still laud the FD today as one of the finest handling cars ever produced, and, in my very biased mind, the single most beautiful, as well. All the curves accentuate the beauty of its inherent shape, but none of them ever feel deliberate, like they are conscious, stylistic choices like all the pretend creases and folds in today's fat cars that struggle to stand out. The proportions are just... so... right. We will never have another car as low and curvaceous, and certainly not as light and focused as the FD RX-7 ever again, thanks to asinine laws that protect fucking idiots who don't look both ways twice before crossing, and the people who drive when they know they shouldn't to keep them all on the road for longer to endanger people more and make cars fatter and more artificial.

The FD RX-7 is a very personal thing to me, and I realise how stupid that sounds, given I've never even sat in one before, and probably never will. I think, at my lowest, cars, and the FD, were what I had chosen as an alternative to define me, to pull me out of a very dark pit I still don't quite understand today. It has shaped me and how I grew up for maybe the better and definitely the worse. I don't think I've ever mentioned this yet, but I really do hate myself for loving cars. I think it is such a stupid hobby, such a stupid sport, and such a stupid thing to love. It's very difficult to love cars without having someone breathe down your neck for it, be it laws, neighbours, a fiancée, your kids, your bank account, or even your own goddamned spine when the time comes. As a sport it is so... crude. Racing is a non contact sport, but even at the highest levels of racing, contact is inevitable. We wave accidents off as "racing incidents", and "being at the wrong place at the wrong time", but each can kill a man or cripple him for life. We burn precious resources as a sport. And honestly, I think the world would be just fine without racing drivers, without fast cars. I believe sponsors and people in need of a status symbol will find something else to throw their money at. But what would the world be without psychologists, accountants, chefs, etc..? Hell, even soccer brings groups of people together. Golf is even used as a businessman's sport. The hell is racing even good for? And it is such an obscenely expensive sport, reserved for those born into it. You want to be a basketball player? Your school probably has a basketball club. Your community centre probably has a basketball court or three. You can buy equipment for it at your local sporting store. But how do you become a racing driver? How do you become good at it? How do you get more involved, how do you get your foot in the door?

I hate myself for loving cars. I feel like I've dedicated my life to an end that will never ever acknowledge me. To an end I will never make a difference to. I have suffered so much mental anguish, and still I have yet to even sit in an FD. I have taken up engineering. I have taken up Japanese. I have flown to Japan on my own. I've been to Mazda's HQ. I have driven my nuts off in simulators trying to chase lap times I have no idea how to achieve. And I feel like I'm at such a loss in every respect. No one is here to guide me, because no one else here loves cars, let alone has made it in the industry. The car culture here is so consciously pretentious it makes me fucking sick. There is no creativity here, there is no performance, no substance, here; only showboating. There is nowhere to run your car here. Car shows here are all about downpayments, monthly repayments, insurance, warranties, running costs, resale value, etc.. And while those are all very valid concerns, they all sound so... foreign, to me. And yes, I realise that this is foreign to me only because I grew up on the wrong side of the fence of common sense, but it genuinely bewilders and disgusts me when people talk about cars like the cold chunks of metal they are. It disgusts me when people ask about resale value because to me that sounds exactly like marrying a woman and asking how much you can pawn her off for later after you've slept with her. No one here *WANTS* a car. They want a car as a tool to get from A to B, and will very happily take a bottom of the barrel pile of junk as a tool. They want a car that looks expensive and has a cool looking, exotic badge on it, even if that same car is the entry level car somewhere else in the world, as a status symbol. As a way to woo women. As a way to bolster their self image and cover up their own inadequacies. There are entire body kits, entire CARS, sold with fake, non functional vents, intakes, and aero bits, just to cater to an image, and people BUY them. No one here *WANTS* a car for the driving experience it can provide. No one here WANTS a car to go on a personal journey of self discovery. No one here loves a car. No one here sees anything in a car more than a cold chunk of metal. No one here wants a car to drive it. And it makes me fucking sick to be here.

...god damn that was a can of worms I hadn't expected to pop open when I started this post.

*ah-hem* I think a lot of us English and Japanese speaking car enthusiasts have been bewitched by the FD RX-7 to really and fairly criticise it for its flaws, because it is so difficult to objectively judge given its legendary status. I will never stop loving and wanting one, even if to drive one means I will cook my left thigh medium rare each trip, for example. It goes beyond reasoning and rational thought. Sports cars were never about reasoning and rational thought to begin with; if anything, they're meant to be a break away from that. An escape from thought and reasoning when it has worn you down and torn away at you in your daily life. A means to never grow up and forget the wonder of seeing the world through a child's eyes. A way to see characters in the inanimate. It was really refreshing and even eye opening to see someone bash the FD with valid complaints, because I have been so blind to them. And when the host of the review praises the unique assets of the FD, I felt a side of me long dead spark with joy again. I felt... proud, for a bit, when he mentioned how lightweight and compact the Rotary Engine is. How little moving parts it had. How that lightness and simplicity more than makes up for the power deficit it suffers in comparison to its rivals of its day. It even made me thrilled and excited for competition. And it put into perspective for me just how emotionally invested I am in the damn thing, to feel angry when I saw the title, to feel joy and pride when the car is praised. It's almost as if I have put a part of me into the damn car. A car I don't even own. It is quite literally my favourite car in my favourite colour, and I just... don't have the words. And, quite frankly, in that state of wonder and joy, I don't need words.

But it makes me realise why that side of me has died. The side of me that feels wonder, pride, and joy in cars. Because it's all so fucking stupid. What business have I investing myself like that in a car that I don't own? For all that I feel, I couldn't finance Mazda to make a new Rotary sports car. I couldn't prove how capable it is in races. That may or may not even be the point of sports cars, the more I think about it. I am just sick and tired, of feeling so much, that go nowhere and do nothing. I'm just sick and tired, for never being good enough for what I love.

ACS21032020

So I started driving a Private Hire Car this past Wednesday.

It's been hella stressful. I legitimately think I couldn't have picked any worse a timing to start this line of work, given the recent COVID-19 shenanigans. I rented a 2008 Corolla Altis 1.6 for a month at 55 dollars a day to see if this line of work is for me, and... well...

I think, with all my mental distress aside, I quite like this job. It just so happens that I go through a LOT of mental distress on this job, and end up wiped out from about half a day of driving. Now, I am a (funda)mentally broken person, so I doubt anything will be smooth sailing for me. And to be fair, half a day of driving is almost the same hours as a regular office job hours, just shifted around a bit.

Admitting that things aren't easy is easy. What isn't easy is not judging myself for struggling so much. Am I too sensitive? Are my feelings too easily swayed? Probably yes to both. Is it normal to be stressed and panic a little on your first few days at a job, especially with no one to guide you? Definite yes to that. COVID-19 means every business is suffering. But it doesn't change the fact that the sheer amount of distress I'm feeling is driving me to extreme edges in my head. The extreme edges that make me give it all up and say "fuck it" and die. And that's a pretty awful head space to be in. And that makes me feel weak and doubt myself. And then that leads to me hating myself.

Business I feel has been agonisingly slow in the three days that I've been driving, and I am struggling immensely just to break even with all the costs of doing this job, which is about a hundred dollars a day, if you were to take fuel and parking into account. I think I would need a lucky full day driving my balls off to even have a hundred dollars of earnings. I am genuinely paying to work most of the time. And THAT I think is the biggest kick in the balls for me the past three days. It makes me think that I really am a hopeless, good for nothing. That I have tried and failed at an office job, a blue collar job, and now a self employed job. What else can I do, what else could I possibly be good for? If I can never hope to make a profit at a job with flexible hours like this, how am I supposed to seek long term psychotherapy treatment I know I need? I feel like I'm stuck in a deep pit and there are bugs, or something, anything, constantly gnawing away at me for as long as I'm in here. And I don't know how to get out.

One good thing that has come from all this is how reassuring my family and friends have been in my "time of crisis", assuming I can actually categorise any period of my life as being particularly in crisis, because they all are. My cousin, -, who's balls deep in the car industry, has been offering me expert level advice, and is even offering to meet me and talk at each stage of my PHC life, from application, to test, and now when I am actually driving. On my first day, I went to have lunch with my sister, when I was on the verge of losing all composure from panic and stress, and she could see that. She tried to talk me down and reassured me that what's important now is that I learn the ropes and go out and see the world a little, forget the money, implying that she and my parents will cover for me financially. My mother went out and bought collared shirts for me, and dug out my mechanic pants from long ago, because she heard that I need collared shirts and long pants, and none of my previous ones fit me anymore. I didn't even ask, I didn't even tell my family about any of this. They just heard and sprang into action, glad that their hikikomori-ing son is finally trying to do something with his life once again. It's been tremendously moving, even if I can't express it in person because I'm always so emotionally exhausted and frustrated at life and at myself.

Of course, having all that support and therefore having no one to blame but myself and having no excuses to still be suffering so much just makes me hate myself even more.

I've planned to explain away my very long periods of being unemployed at my next job interview by saying things like, "I was driving PHC while trying to figure out what I want in my life", but it's ringing scarily true for a statement that's just meant to be an excuse. In my moments of extreme panic and feeling so hopelessly lost, my mind snaps to places of great comfort for me, which is usually around where I live. Also, strangely, I find myself frequenting IMH a lot, despite saying that I never ever want to go back there, because it reminds me too much of █, but I guess maybe that's precisely why my mind snaps back there in my time of crisis to begin with. It's an odd thing, to feel comfort in ferrying customers who live near me, even if they are the very same strangers from anywhere else. But the real oddity here for me personally is that I felt the same, if not more comfort, for ferrying workers and patients from IMH. I always felt so glad to be helping someone who's helping others in such a meaningful way, and I feel an odd empathy, an odd connection, for the patients I ferry, too... well, "worker" and "patient", anyway; I've only had two fares from the area the past three days.

It makes me wonder if I've been barking up the wrong tree this whole time in my life. I kept saying I wanted to be an engineer, to build the world's best sports car it has ever seen. I kept thinking I had to be a racing driver, to have credence. But, really, I feel like age has dulled that desire somewhat. Yes, I'm having a mid life crisis at about a third of my life. Sports cars are so mostly pretentious, image things. Social status, women wooing tools. Who really drives a sports car the way they're meant to be driven? A shocking microscopic minority. So much so that there are "sports" cars made just to cater to an image, with no performance to speak of. Racing as I've come to feel is such a stupid sport. Nowadays I think I legitimately feel more joy in helping others, talking them through their mental hurdles, as I have had done to me before. Of course, I'm no trained professional, so the level of help I can offer is severely limited at best and maybe dangerously flawed at worst, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I do legitimately wonder if I, broken to bits as I am, could be someone else's light for a little bit. I wonder if... I could be someone else's █.

But bah it's not worth thinking about because I'm actually going to need a degree in psychology or something to be a █ and where the fuck am I going to find the money for that.

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.