depression and high risk behavior: a loser’s bet

This came from a lady who works in massage parlors I thought it was worth publishing… Missy

Step up and place your bets. Are you a winner? Not if you take this bet, regardless of the outcome. And it’s a bet I take too often.

High risk behavior subsequent to depression. Been there? I have never sought professional counseling. The few times I knew professional counselors, they were playing mind games on me in a massage parlor, trying to get into my panties for free, or in the case I recall most vividly, trying to get me to do very high risk things with them, usually for free. I lost all respect for counselors back then. I met over a dozen of them during two years in New York. I played with them, yes, but they played with me much more. You can always try to hind behind circuitous logic, but the truth is if you play, you’re guilty. Any claim that said play was simply reciprocal play is bogus. They know better, and that makes them more responsible.

Anyway when you are depressed, you don’t always know it. Sometimes you don’t know because you don’t know what depression is or how it manifests. But often I find depressed people (like me) don’t know it because the depression keeps them from having adequate awareness of their situation. I engage in high-risk behavior for many reasons, but when I am truly depressed, I engage in high risk behavior because I have nothing left to lose. Or do I?

That’s the loser’s bet. If you truly have nothing to lose, then you can “bet it all” and never lose, because you never had it anyway. But if your depression made you blind to what you did have (but couldn’t see), then betting it all on high risk behavior is akin to throwing away any future. Everyone has a future even if you don’t see it, because no matter what you do, tomorrow will always come to you. Just about every future has some positive aspects, even if you can’t see them. So the “I’m depressed so I don’t care, so I engage in high-risk behavior” bet is stupid. And I do it all the time. I will do it until I lose. And when I lose, I usually don’t lose my future completely. The only time I will lose my future is when I actually die. Otherwise, anything short of death is a worse situation than I have now (which seems worthless).  Instead, I simply lose more of those hidden positive bits that were in that future, make my life worse with no one to blame but myself, which contributes to deeper depression. See what I mean?

But can you cheat Lady Luck? Yes. I am living proof. I had nothing, and took a big risk and survived, and now I have something. That’s how it works, every time you manage to beat the odds. But if you are like me, you just pause until the depression grabs you again, and tosses you back into the ring. Once in the ring, you have nothing to lose… so you go for it. If you come out clean, you cheated Lady Luck once again. Otherwise, you come out worse than when you went it. If that happens, you face the ultimate challenge … or should I say your depression faces the ultimate challenge. If you are truly at the end of your rope, and you lose and come out worse off than you went in… then you must acknowledge that yes, indeed, you have nothing to live for. Otherwise you lied to yourself, cheated yourself, took on undue risk, and got fucked, and with no one to blame but yourself. And, finally, only you know it, and only you feel the pain and the shame, and guess what else? Only you can make it right. By killing yourself, you make yourself right. By living on with your new found ugliness (the result of having tried and lost.. coming out worse than before) you must accept defeat in the worst, most personal way. You fucked up, and now you suffer more because you’re such a fuck up, and you’re stuck with it. Nah. Better to prove that you were right. You end it all, and it magically becomes true that you were in deep depression, with nothing left to live for, and the risks you took (which didn’t work out this time) were actually worthwhile “last chance” risks. See what I mean? Depression wins the war every time, even if it loses a battle or two along the way.

The next time you come into my massage parlor and look me in the eye, realize that I am looking at you because I know you are engaging in high risk behavior for a reason. I don’t know what the reason is, but I know there is a reason. If it’s the right kind of massage parlor, your mere presence makes you guilty of loitering for purposes, which will get you in trouble. So there is a risk to simply being here. And then when you get undressed, you take on more risk. If there is a raid or something, you’re naked in a massage parlor. More risk. And when you speak to me, everything you say carries risk. What you ask for, what you suggest, what you offer… all take on responsibility and thus risk. What would your boss do if the newspaper said you were in a massage parlor that got busted? What would your girlfriend do? Wife? Then there is the obvious high-risk behavior of sexual contact. Even hand jobs carry risk… let alone blow jobs or intercourse. Will you come out worse off than you went in? Or will you cheat Lady Luck, and enjoy having beaten the odds? For how long? Whatever drove you into the high risk behavior is pulling the strings, not your conscious mind.

And once day when you come out of there worse off… you got busted in a sting, or you caught an STD, or some private detective followed you on behalf of your wife, what will happen? Was your initial perspective, that the risk was worth taking, legitimate? Was it right? Or will you be fucked? Were you just stupid, and now fucked because of it?

I don’t want to scare you away from my massage parlor, and actually I want you to order the full service menu and let me indulge you, but let me tell you why. Because I am in this for the long haul. I’m taking on the risk, and I’ve got nothing to lose. I don’t give a shit about what happens, beyond today. I need the money, and I need to see you enjoy me, and I need to service you and deliver, and I need to leave here tonight with a pocket full of cash and warm fuzzies from my intimate memories of your fingers and touch, and perhaps the taste and smell of your ejaculate etched in my memory. It is what brings me back tomorrow for more, and enables me to keep going. Otherwise, why did I take the risk? To go home alone, poor, and empty inside, worse off than I was today when I arrived at work hopeful to improve my situation?

No, honey, I brought you into the room to make you happy, nd I’ll take your money in exchange for making you feel a little bit better for the rest of your day.

So come in honey and come come come and enjoy. No money no honey, so bring some cash. Ask for whatever you want, and if I say no try again tomorrow because chances are good I will say yes one of those times. Will you be my lucky guy? Will you make the difference in my life? Will you take away my future, or provide the pay off for my loser’s bet this time? Or will you and I just be two ships passing in the night, still shy of enlightenment? You on your way to wherever you are running away from (because of course you will go back) and me on my way to wherever I am going (if anyone actually knows). Fuck me honey, literally and figuratively. I need it, and you need it. Just be sure that when you ask for it, you really want it, ok? No bullshit. We’re both here in this dark room for good reasons, and we’re both capable of getting the job done. If you want it ask for it, and pay the proper price, and don’t be afraid to enjoy it. And when all’s done and you got yours and I got mine, remember you got what you asked for.. nobody is responsible for your depression but you.