I was “winning” in that ridiculously American way, working constantly, never pausing, always doing more. I was a professional with a nice apartment and a wife. When we parted ways, I worked even more, round-the-clock, 24/7. If I was working, nothing else could get under my skin. I felt in control, a master in my domain. This continued for years.
My world became tiny; it was either the office or home. I wasn’t comfortable anywhere else. The larger world was growing increasingly unmanageable and filled me with dread--sirens, traffic, beeping phones, fluorescent lights, Muzak, people. The stimulation was overwhelming and unbearable. It was like I had invisible straps across my chest and neck, always tightening and leaving me without air. Outside my door, anything could happen, and that terrified me.
Then, I hit a wall, dead on, full frontal; I sank into a profound depression. The door of my apartment became the Great Wall between me and the world. I barely left my place for six months. I arranged everything to avoid interaction, sensation, and stimulation, even shopping at off hours when I knew other people were sleeping. I’d sit around hungry for hours, waiting for the store to empty out.
After all those months, something finally stirred in me, and I started to feel a hunger for sensation and connection again. I began online dating. When I’d go out to meet people, my anxiety came along, but at least it got me out of the apartment. One of my dates told me about the Orgasmic Meditation (OM) practice. It seemed so outlandish, so far from where I was in my head, I couldn’t believe it was real. I was intrigued. If Orgasmic Meditation couldn’t pull me out of my shell, I couldn’t imagine what could.
I found myself in an introductory course to Orgasmic Meditation. It felt exciting, like bungee jumping or taking corners in a fast sports car. My first OM (Orgasmic Meditation) was with a brain scientist gathering data for research, and for some reason, that really calmed me down. I approached the experience with the mindset of structured investigation. When I began going through the process, I was completely blown away. Practicing OM felt a bit crazy. It was exhilarating, energizing, and so far out of my comfort zone that I felt I was flying.
For months, I'd been so scared of any stimulation. But in Orgasmic Meditation, I felt waves of intense sensation, and I didn't have to brace or protect myself against them. I could stay present and just feel what was happening. Even though the sensations were powerful, there was also safety. It was like putting in a contact lens. Your eye has to be open. Your body tries to close the eye, but as you practice, you learn it doesn't hurt you, and then, when you get the lens in place, you can see.
For my first one hundred OMs, I wrote down everything: who my partner was, where we were, what time it was, and what sensations stuck with me. I kept a detailed journal. It anchored the entire Orgasmic Meditation experience into something I felt I could control. It also told my story of coming back to life. It was such a big step when I hit that one-hundredth OM. I found myself seeking out sensation instead of hiding from it behind my apartment door. The happenings at a grocery store felt much less threatening, knowing I could handle all the sensations of an OM.
OMing helped me recognize my value. I remember that people wanted to connect with me, which I had stopped believing when I was alone in my apartment for so long. In an OM, I could sense that what we were doing was good for me and good for the other person. Then, I brought that simple mindset to other social interactions. I’m not socially nervous anymore because I feel that in every exchange, both the other person and I get something.
Orgasmic Meditation softened me and helped me understand my own sensitivity. It taught me to use that sensitivity to connect with other people. I didn't realize that I had been covering that sensitivity and feeling with my overdrive in work and that underneath the depression, all I wanted was to feel. Orgasmic Meditation was the medicine.
