Member-only story
What I Learned Hanging from the Ceiling
Between pain, beauty, and bliss.
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I felt the hemp ropes press deep into my skin. There was a familiar creaking noise from the tight ropes above and around me as they twisted and turned, holding my body aloft. I was quickly slipping into a different state, somewhere between hypnosis and an adrenaline rush. Completely sober — no alcohol, no drugs — I was somewhere else. Again. Every Thursday evening, like clockwork, I hung from the ceiling in a small, dark room in a private apartment. The only light was a dim orange cable tucked along the ceiling.
“Move your fingers.” The rigger’s calm voice cut through the stillness. I obeyed — a small check to ensure my nerves were still alive and well. Behind my blindfold, the world shifted. I breathed slowly and deeply as my body surrendered its full weight to the ropes. There was pain — yes, a tight, insistent kind of pressure — but it was oddly comforting. The ropes felt like a drug taking over my body. I couldn’t move, except for my fingers. I didn’t need to. For the first time all week, my thoughts fell silent. Pure, complete stillness. I could have stayed like that forever: thoughtless, frozen in time.
The rigger began to rock me gently forward and back. I loved that part — it felt like a…
