pain? in security via anonymity

for four years now, I’ve been occasionally experimenting with hanging myself up from the basement ceiling.

typically only in warmer weather for comfort reasons, and always in a configuration that I can escape on my own – though of course I like to pretend that I can’t. my go-to setup had involved loops of rope for my wrists and feet/ankles plus hand towels supporting my upper arms; such a setup did a good job of spreading out the stress and allowing me to hang passively, experiencing the sensations of my virtual crucifixion without any constant exertion. (I say “virtual” because I hung in the classic pose but in open air, without any actual structure at my back.)

since moving recently, I got myself a pair of suspension cuffs, some S-hooks, and some sturdy tiedown straps (like the ones people use to hang swings from tree branches), to allow me to hang without drilling any hooks into the beams of the new place’s basement. the cuffs also make it possible to forgo the hand towels, which improves the aesthetics and simplifies the setup, as the cuffs do a much better job of spreading out the stress on my wrists than bare rope could ever do.

and even more recently, I finally figured out how to get those S-hooks set up on one side of a tall support beam (a set of four 2x6s? or 2x8s?) and how to lash my feet to a metal pillar under that beam, well off the ground but still low enough that my knees are bent at an ideal obtuse angle… in short, I finally accomplished subjecting myself to actual crucifixion.

(never mind that the “cross” is a fixed part of the house’s permanent structure. still counts.)

one thing that has stayed pretty constant throughout my experiments is the time. that is to say, whenever I have measured it, I generally have stayed up on the ropes for only about 2½ minutes at a time, before coming down out of fear for my wrists and hands. there was one time with the hand towels where I managed 3‘20”, but to my knowledge no other hang of mine has come close.

now when I started doing this, it was mostly out of curiosity about what it physically felt like, a curiosity I’ve had from an early age. over time there’s also entered a certain sense of challenge in improving the setup, for comfort, practicality, and aesthetics. I say “aesthetics” because I have also been capturing my experiments on camera, which means the further considerations of lighting the scenes and minding my posing. by doing so, I’m putting my youthful figure to good use while I still have it, seeing if I can create something worthy of a painting.
(there’s more to “minding my posing” than I appreciated when I started. for any given shot I have to consider not just what expression I should be conveying and what direction I should be facing, but also whether I should be straightening my legs to push my body up and how much life should be evident in my hands. and through all of this I have to remember to keep my stomach slightly in and my shoulders down – slipping up on either of those counts tends to ruin the shot no matter what the pose is.)

but tonight, I found my feet walking me down into the basement again, not because I had any particular new experiment in mind or even because I wanted to shoot some more portraits on a good hair day,… but just because I felt the odd urge to get the feeling of being punished, to feel immobilized and powerless, and to be in some sort of pain.

and not only did I have no idea why I would want such a thing right now, but I couldn’t even achieve it to my satisfaction. again, concern about possibly damaging the nerves in my wrists/hands – as how am I supposed to know what approaching the danger threshold feels like? – led me to abort each hang before any real pain had a chance to set in.

a frustrating experience to be sure. but perhaps more importantly, is my life really so devoid of excitement, of physical stimulation, that I’m getting an urge for drawn-out and inescapable physical pain to fill that void? is that what this indicates?