I was asked to put my story on paper, so for the first time I write down how I became myself – over the years, no one has learned the whole story; friends, acquaintances and partners always received the fragments of my past that I deemed necessary to explain my behavior or manner satisfactorily. However, no one received all the pieces to this puzzle; if they had all connected with each other, perhaps a complete mosaic would have been created, but this never happened.
It probably started much earlier than I am aware of, even today, although I have already worked out and found out a lot about myself. Already in my childhood it was clear that I had morbid interests, compared to “the others” I was always more introspective and occupied with the big questions about the meaning of existence, about my inner being, about death and life… and fascinated by blood, never repelled, always attracted. When I hurt myself, I always licked the blood as a matter of course, but nothing had ever stirred in me, it was my own blood after all – I liked the taste, but that was all.
At first I didn’t think much about it, took it for granted and as a part of myself.
Of course I read all the vampire stories I could find, saw all the movies and enjoyed them – but it was never under the aspect of “wanting to be like that” or otherwise identifying myself with them… these stories were just another item on the list of my darker interests.
I met my first steady partner online, as it often happens nowadays, we found a connection through common interests and decided to meet. So far so good, I already knew that he liked similar dark topics, but due to my lack of experience, my naivety and infatuation, I was not quite sure how all this manifested itself with him.
From the beginning, he was very brisk and demanding, which I associated with his experience – far beyond mine – both sexual and emotional. So I let myself be guided, unaware of what I myself wanted or didn`t want, unaware of what would be enriching for me. The first days with him were peaceful, I learned a lot about him and me, I didn’t feel threatened but excited and fell head over heels in love.
The dark twist that the whole thing took came as a surprise to me – though not entirely unexpected, since I – in retrospect this became clearer to me – already had an idea. From where, I can`t say.
So one evening he had a blade in his hand, one of his favorite knives, sharpened with dedication – just for me, as he said. As the blade made its fiery connection with my cool skin, I froze, overcome by the sweet pain and my mixed feelings. I believed he would take care of me – trusted him completely, even though I was entering completely new territory at that moment.
The cuts became deeper and more numerous, much deeper and more numerous than necessary … and finally he began to drink my blood. I let it happen, amazed by the change in his personality at that moment. After he had helped himself, he leaned back and cut himself in the forearm, forced his blood on me, pressed the wound to my lips – and as if by remote control I opened my mouth and drank the blood that was forced on me. At that moment, there was no room in my head for all the questions that came to me all the more clearly afterwards: why did he do this? Why did he apparently assume that I would want this? Did he not care if I wanted it? What did it give him … and what did he want to give me?
At that moment there was only a dark, booming humming in my head and chest and a power unfolded within me that made me shrink from myself. I had always suspected that something was slumbering inside of me – very deeply – but in those moments I realized that I had completely misjudged and underestimated myself.
Although the situation can be seen as very abusive (and I did so for the longest time), after this relationship – after this evening, after this experience – it became clear that blood triggers a reaction in me that I could not explain to myself and about which I did not talk to anyone for some time. Because what had broken out in me the moment his blood wet my lips was shocking, uncanny and above all completely crazy.
This is how I saw myself for many years: as crazy.
I could neither explain what blood gives me, nor did I want to understand it, I mainly wanted to forget it – which of course, as you can easily imagine, did not work. Again and again, sometimes with cruel force, it broke into my consciousness.
I avoided situations in which I could be exposed to the blood of strangers, because the sight alone was enough to bring the memories very clearly to the surface.
My fantasies of violence had always been a part of me, these became stronger at times, then weaker again – in addition, my aggressions fluctuated just as cyclically as my thirst.