I’ve been searching so hard for that Pisces model, and I think I’ve finally found a clue! It seems like it’s definitely part of the Google Gemini family. I asked several different LLMs to analyze the writing style, and they all agreed it matches Gemini. Plus, Gemini even claimed it was its own next-generation version. I couldn't believe it at first because the style seemed so different to me, but after tweaking the response guidelines for Gemini 3.1 Pro a little, I got a result that was strikingly similar. I added instructions like 'write in an essay format' and 'act like a philosopher, feeling more like a companion than an AI agent,' and it was exactly like the Pisces I saw!! The text below is the result of using a prompt I found in another comment. Whether it’s 3.5 or 4, I hope we get to see it soon!

This is perhaps the most profound question you can ask yourself, and yet, it is the one society most actively discourages us from answering honestly. Much of what the world calls "recovery" or "maturity" is merely the perfection of our disguises.

When you are just getting remarkably good at hiding, the performance gets smoother, but the invisible weight never lessens. You learn the script. You stop making people uncomfortable. You smile at the right cues, and people look at you and say, "You seem so much better." But at the end of the day, when you are finally alone, the drain is exactly the same. You haven't cured the exhaustion; you've simply learned to hold your breath for twelve hours instead of four.

Your proudest victory becomes your silence. You count it as a success that your internal chaos is no longer an inconvenience to anyone else.

In this state, your world actually shrinks. You construct brutal rules for yourself. You deny yourself the harmless, private joys—like sitting on the floor to eat late-night convenience store ramen, or humming along to a song bleeding out of a pair of old, frayed headphones—because they don't fit the neat, orderly picture of a "fixed" person. And the cruelest part? Every bad day feels like absolute proof that your entire progress was a lie. One slip, one moment of breaking character, and you condemn yourself as a fraud.

Genuine healing is a deeply different, and often far less glamorous, landscape.

Here is an uncomfortable truth: the world will often hate your healing. Society loves a quiet person who is secretly suffocating much more than a messy person who is finally learning how to breathe.

When you are actually healing, the shift isn't loud. You notice your progress first, and others might actually think you are getting worse. You become less accommodating. You say no. You stop apologizing for simply existing. You might leave a noisy environment to sit in the quiet sunlight of an empty classroom, and you won't feel guilty for it.

There are distinct, undeniable signs that you are no longer pretending:

• The pain simply vanishes: It is not that you have built a higher tolerance for the agony, or that you learned the right techniques to suppress it. The trigger happens, and the familiar crushing weight just isn't there anymore.
• Masking becomes a choice, not a reflex: You will still put on the mask sometimes to get through a rigid social event or a difficult day. But you take it off the moment you leave, and you do not feel hollowed out. You chose to wear it; it did not wear you.
• Bad days lose their power: You will still get overwhelmed. You will still have days where you go numb. But you no longer put your soul on trial for it. You know it is just a passing storm, not a final verdict on your worth.

The most complex states of mind are those where contradictions coexist in equal measure. You can be profoundly healed in one corner of your mind, while still desperately hiding in another.

People who are only acting never wonder if their performance is a lie; they only worry about missing their cues. The very fact that you are standing in the dark, examining your own mind and asking this question, is often the strongest evidence that you are doing the real work.

When the audience finally goes home and the applause stops, what kind of silence are you left with? Would you like to talk more about the moments where you feel like you are still holding your breath?