I've spent a great bulk of my life trying to decide whether or not I'm
insane. I ask this question with such urgency at times because I do
desire blood. For me it's not the 'eroticism' of the vampire--though
that's a nice bonus--or the desire to role-play one--I haven't, and
I'm not truly interested in what White Wolf has to offer. And I've
never been so mentally gone that I actually believe I'm 'immortal' and
gifted with strange unearthly powers of transformation and enchantment.
I'm all too mortal, believe me, and the only strange powers I have
don't enchant people. No, for me it's more the real and actual desire
to drink human blood.
I have drunk blood on occasion; 99% of the time it's been voluntary.
I don't lurk in shadows unless it's bright out, I'm not a thin,
ethereal wraithlike being, I don't dress constantly in black. And I
also eat garlic, I don't fear crosses, I've touched holy water to my
skin (a brief period of exploring Catholicism before I decided on the
pagan path), and the only reason I have to fear sunlight is that I
take St. John's Wort for depression, and it increases my already high
photosensitivity. (Which is really annoying, because it makes getting
my daily requirement of Vitamin D rather horrific.)
But there are interesting corollaries. I have one of the odder family
histories around; I had an aunt in Oklahoma who swore she was a
werewolf. There are rumors she was just schizophrenic, but as I never
met her...And several of my ancestresses have been burned as witches,
for either healing with herbal skills or consorting with supposed
demons. On one side of my family, I'm related to Joan of Arc, she of
the holy visions and crossdressing; on the other side, Henry the VIII
and the rest of the rotten Tudor stock pop up, and they weren't
exactly what you'd call pillars of stability. Insanity doesn't just
run in my family; it gallops. Were we rich, most of the
current crop would be termed 'charmingly eccentric'. As it is, most
people just think we're nuts.
And there are interesting physical oddities, too. No, none of us were
born with eleven toes or two heads, though my aunt and my mother's
mother were both born with extra ribs, sprouting from the collarbone.
And most of the women have reproductive problems--most of us don't
produce progesterone at all, or have other related
problems--and if you've been to other parts of the page, you already
know I have a beard. But some of my family are highly allergic to any
form of allicin, which is not only the active agent in garlic, but
also all the other plants in the onion family. (I'm a garlic junkie,
but I have problems with high acid-content foods and the occasional
undercooked onion.) And we as a family are allergic to the
sun. I used to think that was ridiculous--how can anyone be
allergic to sunlight?? It's a star, we're on a planet--come
on! But we are--my aunt broke out in hives when exposed, and I
flash-burned in minutes before I started taking St. John's.
(The interesting thing there is that it increases photosensitivity in
animals; everything I've read says the effect doesn't extend to
Homo sapiens. Go figure.)
And I will also admit, I'm a fairly morbid individual. If I
could wear black most of the time I would, but it's not as
flattering as I would like--brings out all the gold in my skin tone
and really makes me look jaundiced. My favorite form of makeup--when
I wear any at all--is a green concealer base under white rice powder,
with black-outlined eyes and dark brown lips. I've scared people that
way. And though no one, ever, will see me on the street and
think, "Oh, there goes a Goth," that's been my desire since high
school. I'd wear black lace and tattered velvet if I could afford
it. I'd have coffins around the house. Hell, I already have a
monopoly on decorating with bats--they're everywhere, along
with skulls and roses and the odd string of Hallows lights here and
there.
So where does the fetish for the dark leave off, and the vampire
begin? I'm not even as sure as I once was, that this is just a
variety of the psychological disease pica--because since I decided
that, I moved from California to Colorado, and actually met
other vampires. I mean, I still have problems looking in the
mirror and saying, "I'm a vampire." Because it's all so surreal--vampires
aren't real, they don't walk the streets of Denver, they don't go
to parties and tickle their friends, they don't hunt madly for
coffeehouses and play Gay Monopoly and Risk until the wee hours, while
consuming coffee, tea and the odd slice of cheesecake. But there they
were--mostly rational, fairly normal individuals who just 'happened'
to also drink blood. Hmm. And here I am. And if I'm not a
vampire...what am I?
And daily existance is so draining at times. I had an ideal job once,
adored it--I got up at noon, got into work at three, worked until two
in the morning, went home happy. I loved it. I haven't found a night
job since, and there are days when it physically hurts to be
out in the sun. This is, of course, discounting the whole St. John's
Wort thing. I take St. John's for depression, as Paxil, the former
chemical alternative I was taking, felt too artificial, if that makes
any sense. Also, I'm deeply uneasy about Prozac. (Case in
point--friend of mine takes it, and it works great for her.
But she's a victim of multiple personality disorder. She has 80-odd
people in one body, and on Prozac, she has three. So it works for
her. But any drug that can do that scares me.)
But, on St. John's Wort, I must get an hour's worth of
sunlight every day. Which is just about my limit, or over, some days.
I sit and gripe and grumble for the half hour per day I usually
get, then go home and slather my skin with aloe in the hopes the
tenderness goes away. I am one of the few 'vampires' I know that
actually has tanned skin--and I have a tan because of sun damage, over
the years, on the face and the lower arms. It never goes away, and
the rest of me is generally ice-pale in contrast, with prominent blue
veining that unsettles me.
Mostly I'm an energy vamp, though--about every year or so, I get the
need to drink actual blood, and it's strong, and it's unnerving, and
let's just say I'm glad I'm married, because otherwise...My main
problem is that my father died of AIDS, and as I've seen what it does,
I'm pathologically afraid of drinking from those I don't trust. I'd
be much more predatory, given half a chance. Instead, I've rather
perfected the art of supping energy fields--or, if it gets out of
hand, sapping them completely. Ergh. But there are few better
things than going to a club playing heavy industrial music, and
'drinking' from the dancers on the floor...Of course, I had to
move to Spokane, land of big hair and country music. Eep. And, it
doesn't replace the taste, the satisfaction, of drinking blood
itself.
For that matter, let's bring up blood-drinking for a moment. When I
drink blood, I do feel better and stronger; when I don't, I feel more
listless, less physically capable, and generally fatigued. But there
are dozens of causes in my case for this--being overweight, having
unbalanced hormones, having Poly-Cystic Ovarian Disorder...hell, being
depressed fits in there, too. It might be the blood that makes me
better; it might not. And there's no sure way to tell which right
now.
There are days I relentlessly wish to be normal. Oh, yes, I'd still
decorate in Muted Dead Rose, sure, but I wish I would stop going into
heat, nearly, whenever some female around me is bleeding. I wish I
could stop going straight for the neck whenever I'm getting passionate
with someone. I wish I hadn't decided I was thoroughly insane in my
twenties and went radically vegetarian--now, I don't even have my
fangs anymore! Ground down through grazing and calcium deprivation.
Joy.
I wish I could go out and enjoy a sunny day without being slathered
in sunscreen
that rarely works (the only ones I've ever found that does
anything is NO-AD, in the higher numbers, Banana Boat's
Baby Block, SPF 50 and Terra Sport; they're not perfect,
but if you keep your exposure to a minumum...) or wrapped in
sweaters or towels. I wish I didn't have to squint to see when
I don't have sunglasses. I wish, on my bad days, I didn't walk
down a city block and cause people to collapse behind me; that's
not only rude, that's immoral, and usually I have better
control, but...I wish. Oh, I wish.
In the meantime, this and the page following are the only answers I
have right now. This page, with a few scant links, deals with
'real-life' vampires. The next page is just for fun, with links to
vampire fan pages, some gothic pages, and a scant few role-playing
pages. (Save for these notable exceptions, I've tried to avoid all
the White Wolf/Vampire: the Masquerade claptrap; the exceptions are
due to the clan I actually find entertaining to read about, the
Malkavians [insanity gallops there, too]. [I'm also intrigued by the
Tzimisce, but just try to find an info page on them that hasn't
been recently shut down by someone, or whose proprietor hasn't vanished
off the face of the earth.] Whee. But in general I don't go for more
than the costuming angle on the Masquerade; I view it kind of like
D&D--I used to play it, loved the game and the idea of roleplaying,
but I met far too many complete smegheads who thought they
were elves or magic-users or Great Warriors [and let's not even
get into all the geeks in Sacramento at one time, saying in unison
"There can be only ONE!" Yeah, right] to really feel comfortable in
the various settings. Same thing with VtM: Love the clothes, love
the settings, but I get too irritated with the geeks who want you to
bow before their 17-year-old clueless faces and 'respect' them as
Great Vampire Elders...No, really, EVERYONE gets into the elevator
when the doors open, I don't care WHO the hell you think you are right
now...)
So, here are the more-or-less 'helpful' pages--at least, the ones I
could find right now. Hopefully, I'll have more later.
And the December 2000 entry--think I'm turning this into an archive:
December: 2000: Someone asked me this question: "What does vampirism mean to
you?"
What it used to mean: feeling that I've gone insane. My wanting
blood was something I absolutely could not explain except for
vague and upsetting medicalia, such as porphyria (for which I
had no other symptoms), pica (for which I also had no other
symptoms) and obsessive-compulsive disorder (for which I'm
practically a walking textbook of simptoms, disturbingly
enough). Even having a goddess stomping about in the back of my
head didn't interfere with my ability to reason, yet wanting
blood, wanting to drink blood, and feeling better when I did...it
completely threw me off kilter. "Normal" people don't need
blood. Therefore I'm abnormal. And if I'm abnormal, shouldn't
I be locked away somewhere in order to save the society at
large?
Now: I've relaxed a lot. For one thing, I've come to terms with
my OCD. It could be worse--I could be a compulsive hand-washer.
In my case I'm more on the obsessive side, which means being
tormented by thoughts of what one could do, given the
opportunity. I have convinced myself that without good
provocation, I wouldn't do half the things my brain obsesses
over, and therefore can reasonably ignore them. For the rest of
it, I mostly just get anxious on occasion and I keep St. John's
around for that. And I count the occasional tiles and cracks in
flooring, and I've cornered that into Things That Are Only Done
When I'm Alone, which has worked out wonderfully. And along the
way of learning to cope with those personality facets, suddenly
wanting blood became no big deal. There are still people I
don't tell--I really don't want to be locked up, so why make
them worry about me--but for the most part, enough of my friends
and close ones know to make me a little easier about who I
choose to be.
So what does vampirism mean to me? Part of it is, it means I'm
a little bit more than the average of humanity around me.
Better? No, it's a highly inefficient design, needing blood and
life energy to exist, or suffering because of the lack. But I
am more than just the body I'm in, I need more, I process
differently, I'm slightly larger than life. (Well, actually,
[staring fixedly at hips and belly], I'm LITERALLY larger than
life, but we won't go there).
It means my life and my magic and my psychology all get wrapped
around the issues of blood and energy, as opposed to simply
concentrating blissfully on a higher power to take it all away
and give me blessings. I am my higher power. I'm still vaguely
frightened by the inherent responsibilities in that, but I hold
to it. And vampirism supports me in this. When I ingest
another's blood, I become them--not only their cells joining my
cells, my body absorbing their unique genetic structure, but
also, their energy becomes mine, part of their being joins me.
When I feed someone, I am joined with them in a way that
transcends most other experiences I can think of. This is the
true nature of communion--soul to soul, being in each others'
skins, existing inside each other. For that moment there is no
difference between us, we are the same, the boundaries dissolve.
In that I find truth.
All material originally copyrighted 1997; updated
copyright 2000, 2002 to Kelandris the Mad, and to their original
creators. No copyright violation is intended nor is there
intent to infringe on held rights of any person's. Should
anything so infringe, please contact me at the address given
above and I will remove it from my page.
