therapy.

1.

Therapy. 

Death metal and violent video games style. 

Hey, I spend the other remaining hours of each and every day mindfully, or at least attempt to, so a little mindless self indulgence once in a while never hurt anyone. Sometimes that’s all it takes, all a person needs is some fun.

Getting playfully plastered with your best friend, circulating the wonderful toxin around In your body, enough of which to kill that bug that’s taken residence up your ass, loosen the knickers a bit. 

We’re generally way too up tight; not saying getting drunk is always the best therapy but for someone like me, it is. I’m not a drunk or an addict or a junkie, I just like to get out of my head and have some fun on occasion, alcohol being the best answer, most times. It’s not always pretty, but with the right people and the right place, it can be a thing of beauty. 

It becomes less a social experience than  it is a shamanic one, feeling as if I’m taking part in some ancient ritual, passed down through generations, with its intent in contacting the other side. I feel that way because it is that way. You could look at the science of it and bore yourself to sleep or you could look at the spiritual science behind it, the one our Western minds can’t touch. 

2.

Ritual. Loud music and chalice style. 

A seance of slurred words and liberated bodies, freed from anxious shackles. Psychic bondage. 

Getting freer now, movements become more exaggerated, staggering and swaying. Dancing. Bobbing to the beat either in your head or outside of it, caught up in a feeling, emotion takes over. This is where it gets tricky.

To those who aren’t comfortable with their inner worlds, drama ensues; loud, emotional outbursts of jealousy and anger. One shouting voice becomes two, then three  or more in but a matter of seconds. The fight response dominates and everyone is suddenly very brazen, more so than usual. This is an unusual circumstance. Conversations become passionate, heated; logic gives way to charisma and you see the person behind their mask. Some masks are better left on, however; take heed and pick your drinking partners carefully.

To those who are more comfortable in their inner worlds than the outer, the experience is perceived very differently. Insight deepens, the heart expands and shines bright, healing light on all those it touches. Blood vessels dilate, the pulse evens out and the edginess you carry around as your shield dissipates; there’s no need for it here anymore. You’re free. You’re safe. The negative becomes numb so the positive can come forth. Shy ones and quiet ones experience it this way, the thinkers become the feelers the know they are. Relax, little one, for you can breathe easy now in this acceptance, for we are all drunk here, let that be your shield for the night. Find your security in yourself again, speak your mind and heart, let yourself be truth. 

3.

Theory. Armchair philosopher style. 

For therapeutic purposes, it’s best to choose a partner matching your own temperament, such as two reserved types or two un-reserved types. This lends to greater understanding and appreciation of each other’s thoughts/feelings and lessens the chance of misunderstanding, which greatly improves the positive impact of this work. 

Things always get off to a slow start but there is no need for haste; we have all night. 

4.

It’s now an arms race into slow oblivion. It’s no longer quite known if time is slowing  down or speeding up but is irrelevant, either way. 

On being a bastard.

  For as easy of a person as I am to get along with, I'm a terribly difficult person to really get to know and live with; I don't know how my family puts up with me some days. Maybe it's not as bad as I make it out to be but I am a bonafide contrarian, and it frustrates even myself. The problem is with awareness.  Because I spend such a huge amount of the time in my own head, I know all my own little quirks inside out, and catch myself on it when I pull something in real life: It may go unnoticed by everyone else but you can't fool yourself.

  So, for as peaceful as I am it stands to reason that I am a seething ball of chaos not far below the surface. I really don't intend for this to paint a melodramatic picture of my life because it is far from terrible, however, the burden I carry lies within me.

  Everyone suffers in their own ways. Life, is suffering. Period. What it means, it means to us alone and it's what we made it to, to appease our deeper desires that wish to pull something from the experience of it.

  I like these dark days of mine but it's all too comfortable and easy to get lost in; I've tasted that darkness once already and don't wish to go back. I won't go back. But, it's still pertinent to poke your head in there once in a while, see if anything changed or to realign with yourself.

  I feel helpless other than to write out these demons so they don't overstay their welcome, as they have before. Maybe for some, psychotherapy works but I don't believe in that either. I don't think it's right to be paid money to do what we should be doing for each other in the first place, out of goodwill towards men (and women), to have someone determine what the mental health of an individual costs per hour.

  The world has lost touch, and this is the part where the blame gets passed, the fingers get pointed. I can't blame any one thing in particular because it's a collective failing. I hate that couch surfing is our national pastime, and that a television has now replaced the campfire as a social circle to congregate around. I hate seeing people with their faces in their phones constantly, like we can't be stand to be bored for two seconds and just stand there and observe. I hate that chain restaurants are the new home dinner, and the reason it is that way.
  Most of all, I hate that I do all this myself; I'm trapped, a prisoner in my own mind and only I have the key. If there is one thing I know, however, it's that it's not going to be found in any one of 9,000 channels.