Crisis of a different kind

So it turned out to be a crisis, but one that superseded the relationship crisis, at least for awhile. I got fired for the first time in my life - not really the subject matter for this blog.

But now I wonder if the massive porn immersion wasn't somehow connected to a sense of looming catastrophe in some odd way. I knew things weren't going well at work, but I was unaware of office machinations that resulted in a sort of Night of the Long Knives (well, alright, that's a wee bit grandiose) and installation of a new regime after my departure.

Anyway, I've been hiding, trying at the same time to resist what I've referred to elsewhere as the centripetal whorl of depression, that falsely reassuring voice of the disease that tells you that you're better off alone, and that everybody else is certainly better off without you, what with you being such a buzzkill and all.

How does the porn and the masturbation fit in? I think they reinforce the numbness in a paradoxical way; a quick dose of seratonin (and perhaps others - I can never recall whether orgasm releases dopamine, GABA, norepinephrine and all the other modern Good Witches of the Biochemical North but without the risk of actual physical [let alone emotional] contact with another human being, and with the added benefit of the possibility of self-recrimination for your failings afterwords. It's win-win-win from the standpoint of the disease, I think.

Some smart psych grad student should definitely be doing a Ph.D. on depression and masturbation, or depression and porn, or something of that ilk.