The blood stops short trapped before a hair tie, until I release the bun of tension: post exercise of body-induced drama. This is the captivating magic of night.
The mind works itself into heavy persuasion. The body labors with intense urging. The heart never questions what the goals are or what state of peak condition or overwhelmed fatness I stand in. A sober thought I do entertain is how someone can not understand the significance of body awareness and its dynamism.
I have a passionate addiction to adrenaline and to the exclusive kick of the way my muscles drum within its act of compulsion. The heart skips, skips and skips uninhibited. It beats obsessively and storms out my mouth like an aggressive bird. It ignites the fight and frenzy over the psyche and tissue land of freedom.
I’ve failed many times and am more successful because of every stoppage. And now every weakness is formed into substantial strength and what strength has already been established has now constructed itself into marble and stone.
The focus is better determined than years previous. The focus is better established than the last set and the mind-muscle connection tastes stronger than the last seething rep. I’ve been sucked into a craving that’s unaware of its bounds. I throw my fists into the air to battle and enter new coordination and balance ground.
My chest hovers over the floor, shoulders and triceps contract, hum and weep pushing up 200lbs plus over and over again. The brace of my abdominals is my body’s endless support and savior. Now there’s a surge spreading like a wild forest fire burning each of my hamstring fibers and into every angle and groove of my glutes with a various amount of hip thrust and single-leg pelvic bridges I can muster under time and tension. The inner thigh screams by its own distress signals and fleshly vulnerability. The burn degrees increase and I pull my center deeply to the spine to further the accuracy of the focal point along with the present.
I grimace in pain and drill my teeth into my own mouth. I start to elevate and disappear like smoke. I’m high now and there’s an exit. I’m high and there are no thoughts struggling its way to birth other thoughts. I’m high and suddenly there are no problems in the world. There is no suffering. There is only bliss and light. There is only presence and heaven. There is only the state of pure being.
This title will be deceiving to some as there are types of professions that’ll give you the girlfriend experience automatically for their own reasons, but I picked this title because it describes my experience perfectly. See, when your own therapist is trying to give you the girlfriend experience and it doesn’t involve great conversation, an evening gown, a sugar daddy or walking away with an orgasm – you have to question what is going on because some people like myself actually want real therapy.
I’m not looking to sit in somebody’s office and talk about what’s happening throughout my week on a weekly basis. I don’t want to gossip about my life so the therapist could live vicariously through me. I don’t want a girlfriend to laugh with that’s presented as a therapist to have offset conversations about my future with. I don’t want to sit under jarring lights and speak about my opinions or views about my relationship and how does it feel to live with my partner and his two kids.
I don’t want to wait outside the therapist office only to hear loud laughs coming from behind closed doors because I want to KNOW and I want to SEE and I want to HEAR real therapy happen. You know – the kind of therapy that leaves you crying, reflecting and even feeling lost in your own world by the thought-provoking questions and thoughts that should occur.
The truth is I don’t need to share my present or future plans with this therapist. I don’t need the option to have a family therapy session. I don’t need to replace a girl who is a friend because I don’t have any current (real life) girls who are friends anyway. I don’t need my therapy session to be fun or lighthearted. I don’t want to be in a niche I believe my therapist has – some kind of Women’s Club.
So the question is: What do I want from therapy?
I want to stay stuck. I want to stumble. I want my thoughts to dig in their own graves if it means I’ll find a better understanding of myself. I want to cry (if it goes there). I want the therapist to do their job. I want a therapist to put in time and effort by taking real opportunities to intentionally ruin my day with childhood trauma and life-altering questions. I want a therapist who wants to make a difference in every client’s life. I want to walk away from the therapist appointment feeling like I had a great therapy session and not like I had a fucking girlfriend experience. I’m not there to be coddled. I’m there for serious matters.
What I want from therapy is very specific and it has to be because there isn’t any other way to go about it. I have a family history of mental illness. Some behavior is learned, while others are given to me directly by blood. I notice sometimes I’m managing okay, and other times I have to accept that I’m not. I was diagnosed as a twelve year old kid with Depression. Now it seems I graduated to being Bipolar. It is important for me to understand my illness, my blessing and my curse. And it’s super important for me to understand my behaviors and tics and why I switch into two different types of people without any awareness as to when it’s happening.
The point to all this is: I remember clearly telling the lady who performed my evaluation exactly what I want(ed) as well as the first time I met and spoke with my therapist.
My therapist has a good nature about her (at times) despite being very different from me and my own life. Still, I want a good therapist. And I will get a good therapist because I’m not settling for less and because I’m not going to stop searching for one. And as I walk away from the therapist office once again thoughts start to balloon collectively but singularly at once: Why is it every time I’m early to my appointment and lounging in the waiting room I see the same aged clients (late 20’s- early 50’s) strolling out of my therapist’s office? Why are all these women – whether they’re young or old laughing every time they leave the therapist office? And why are all the therapists’ clients’ women?
Now the time has come where I believe I’ve fully given this woman enough of my time. I’m never getting those months back. Of course this is a learning experience for future therapists and future standards I’m going to set right in the beginning of my first therapy session which takes place next week because this bitch doesn’t play. I did my goal: I stuck with a therapist for about 6 months because I’m like most men in the world – I have commitment issues. Nevertheless I learned a lot. Therefore this is where I break up with the girlfriend experience who is my therapist.
Some Final Notes
Some people have a problem with breaking up with people. Fortunately and luckily, I do not. I enjoy it, and frankly – welcome it! I think about how my life has been about one big confrontation. And luckily for me I love confrontations because it says a lot about the kind of person you are (or not). I go on and think about the bases I have to cover in case this therapist decides to fire away questions because she doesn’t like my basic answer which is: There’s something missing in our therapy sessions.
Along with confrontation I think about liberation. Breaking up with a partner, wife, husband, business partner and such can be a fantastic release, even if it hurts initially. I think about the freedom to speaking your mind and expressing what it is you really feel and think about right after moving on and never looking back because if it was good for you, you’ll still be in the relationship or in my case – sitting in a seat across from my therapist who wants to get paid to do half ass work. I’m not wasting my time to get half ass results. If a person isn’t driven for success by giving out quality work then why should I (or any other client) be around?
If the other clients don’t understand this, that’s not my problem, and as is, not every client wants what I want. Some actually want to be coddled. However, I’m leaving this therapist because I have self-love. I wish she understood what it is she’s currently providing by not providing. As a therapist, she should put in time and effort into improving and evolving her client’s lives unless they specified to have a girlfriend experience.
The night was full of curiosity and mutuality and winds and whispers that soothed exact. Daylight blared through the tasteless windows with all its promising newness; sharpening beauty in a welcoming space of two bodies interlacing as one glorious flame. Lying in bed, there was an earnest sense of giving and receiving sensuality, in addition to an urge of freedom between the pair. There was diversity in both worlds – yet beneath the façade there joined parallel natures which compelled the two to pierce the moment at hand as one.
Without formed and repetitive guarded guises, she came to him baring a part of her soul, free as a bird as did he. During when words became spells and words encircled the situation like conjuring smoke in a séance, she stroked his luxurious charcoal hair over and over again until his brain registered what was occurring – instantaneous magic! He penetrated her eyes with all the fire in his core and resembling a potent magnet pulled her into an earth-shattering kiss. The energy and explosion melted their suckling lips and delicate tongues. Every open mouth kiss was pain released, joy embraced and passion undiscovered.