There Is No Room For The Weak

I am a masochist. There, I said it.

How did I get here? It was a gradual road at first. Just me trying new things and when I learned I didn't like it, I stopped doing it. After a year of just dabbling in pain, I decided to go all in because I wasn't as happy as I thought I could be.

It started out simple enough, with a ball, some ropes and cords, and a lot of sweat. Now I'm a bona fide member of  a whole new (to me) world, where there is yelling, bruises, wraps, suffocation, and the coup de gras, not being able to sit down.

I never thought I'd be one of those people that said things like this, but I am. It's not a topic I bring up when in the company of certain folks because I hate the expression on their faces when I tell them what kinds of hours I keep. I hate the reproachful tone they use when I explain how much time I spend in bed. But what I hate the most is the way they feign interest in the topic and it isn't until I've wasted my breath explaining it that they come up with an excuse not to try before they've even started.

I want to jump on the table and scream at them, Al Pacino style. Instead, I smile and nod and say, "it's not for everyone," when here's what I really mean.

The problem with other people (because, clearly there's nothing wrong with me), is that they really do everything they can to avoid pain. I get it, I can relate, really. But what they fail to realize is this. A few minutes, a few hours a week of being knee deep in pain can produce equal parts pleasure. Listen, here's the truth, and for folks who can't understand that, then there's only one thing left to do with them. And to those who respond with only excuses, here's a reality check for you. It's a hard lesson to learn, but the bottom line is this.

It took a lot of miserable days where I let my circumstances boss me around. Not anymore. I'm in control now. I dish out the pain. There is spit, sweat, and primal screams. Asking for more or trying to get more out of it. I've been hit in the face, choked, chased, and I've even thrown up a couple of times. It's not pretty, but I keep coming back for more and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Full disclosure, there is an epic mind battle before I inflict pain in order to receive pleasure. But once you get me started, the only thing I'm chasing is the release. And I won't stop until I have it. You have to experience it for yourself to understand, but it's a lot like this, and this, or this, and especially this. Because when all is said and done, I want to climb on my roof and shout so everyone knows who I am.

Usually, the next question during the interrogation into my obsession with pain is something like, why would you do that? My responses vary, but there is always a choice we make. Pain, pleasure or otherwise, it hurts me more not to be who I am. It's a matter of discipline.

I don't use the term obsession lightly either. Many times you'll find inappropriate images on my phone, or I find myself watching videos that require me to turn to volume low in case someone is walking by. The grunting, the glisten, and the post release collapse. I can't get enough.

Pain makes me happy. It wasn't intentional, it just sort of happened one day. There are days when some pain is too great, and I can take a step back. Whilst exploring my threshold for pain, here's one thing I've learned for sure. Remember, pleasure and pain go hand in hand. Without pain, we cannot know how great pleasure really feels. I have come too far and I know full well tomorrow will be better.

THERE IS NO ROOM FOR THE WEAK