The Omega Course

I never drink...coffee

2011-12-04T19:23:00.001Z

Regular readers will know that I abhor hot drinks, particularly coffee. And this is often to the detriment of my social life. I have lamented about this before and nothing has changed.

Perhaps abhor is too strong, I wouldn’t say that I hate coffee, more like it hates me. My nervous system is as f*cked as my digestive system now and since caffeine likes to mess with both then just a half a cup invariably leads to a night doubled up in pain waiting for my body to decide how best to violently expel it.

But, rather perversely, I love the smell of coffee. There is nothing better than the aroma of fresh beans brewing in the morning. So I suppose I do like it, but from a distance.

We all have our addictions. And our methods of dealing with them. Mine is to keep three pennies in my pocket and smell my fingers when I need to suppress any urges. Ha, I must sound crazy! My obsessive-compulsive appetite-suppressing penny nicotine patch!

Let me stop rambling and explain my observation and reason for this post to you. I have noticed, on the rare occasions that I have tried to drink it, that good coffee, when left to cool just a little, tastes very much like old blood. It’s a rich, metallic, satisfying taste that triggers the same impulses in the brain that fire when feeding (a feeling I have experienced only once before when eating and smelling smoked bacon!).

Remember this when your next cup touches your lips and you’ll taste exactly what I mean. It makes me smile how so many of you are addicted to the stuff too, perhaps deep down we are all lusting after the same thing…

Sympathy and Synesthesia

2011-11-20T10:47:00.001Z

So, the past year? As you can guess, the ‘educational’ plan didn’t exactly work out. We had good intentions to educate the nation, but if anything we only succeeded in withdrawing deeper into ourselves.

Luke got a bit ‘weird’, became very unpredictable and started obsessing over approaching strangers and ‘moving onto other people’ so I distanced myself from him. I left the house in September and moved back in with my mother. But that was very awkward, to say the least. Most of our arguments centred around food and I deflected most questions by inventing allergies that would flare up dreadfully if I wasn’t careful about what and when I ate. Once in a while I would submit and eat one of her homemade stews, only to spend the night doubled over in pain in bed. I like my food, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t like the pains that come with it! Apparently I used to scream out during the night too. I could never remember what unsettled me by the morning (thank God) but the screams were clearly disturbing enough that she thought it necessary to wind some old palm crosses through the bars at the bottom of the bed.

I’ve been reading a great deal about synesthesia because I’m hoping to pick up some tips on the sight-touch sensations that I suffer with. I catch myself obsessing over people’s hair, the centre of flames and the squeaky rear windows of wet cars. Weird, huh? But it’s good fun most of the time.

Luke and I began to speak again only a few weeks ago. We both know deep down that we can’t completely separate, so it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed again. He hasn’t plucked up the courage to approach other people and he looks a complete mess. He’s been staying in the house for days on end and he’s lost quite a bit of weight. We spent the last few nights together discussing where to go from here. We even discussed whether to approach the ‘authorities’ for help, but it was unlikely that anyone we considered, from the church to the police, would give us the time of day. We ideally want to meet people like ourselves, not to befriend or emulate them, but to seek advice on how to proceed. So we’ve agreed to to put ourselves out there once again. I’ve published some blog posts on here that I was writing secretly (from my 'accident' onwards) and I've started recording audio versions of my story for Youtube. Luke is managing his own exposure in his more subtle way. It’s taking his mind off the ‘approaching strangers’ issue. And mine, if I’m honest.

So here we are – you can find us on Twitter and our video blogs (a retelling of this story) on our Youtube channel. Enjoy. I’ll be speaking to you again soon….

Who wants to live forever?

2011-01-30T11:27:00.001Z

Apologies for the lack of updates. I had a crisis of conscious and decided not to continue writing. I even hovered over the ‘delete blog’ button a few times. I don’t know why, I think I was worried that I would identify myself, or I would write something that would pinpoint my location and then the crazies would all come crawling out of the woodwork. Not so much the religious crazies, but the vampire fans. The vampire wannabes. If I wanted to be famous then I would write my name and address below and just sit back and wait for the doorbell to ring. I’d wait for the inevitable examinations, the poking and prodding to see if Luke and I are really what we say we are. And then the glory of the discovery, the shock, the outcry, and the TV interviews. But although the Devil’s temptations are sweet, they are not half as sweet as anonymity.

I’ve decided that I like it this way. And Luke does too. So specifics must be avoided from now on. Instead I’m going to continue what Leonard set out to do. I’m going to educate the reader, inform him/her about our condition and teach him/her through observations that I make about our everyday lives. At the very least, it may serve to cause a momentary hesitation at the moment that he/she picks up a pitchfork and flaming torch when our identities are discovered…

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the past year or so it’s that vampirism has absolutely zero to do with pretty, melancholy teenagers. It isn’t all about depressed Goths and thrash metal either. I’m surprisingly indifferent about these American, gothic teen vampire films. I say ‘surprisingly’ because I’m usually offended by such a flippant attitude towards something so intensely personal, but I really couldn’t care less. I just avoid them. They’re for kids. But I do find the younger generation’s obsession with death and vampirism to be seriously disturbing. And the way that the media encourages this obsession is even more sinister. Who thought that selling children merchandise encouraging an obsession with death and killing was a good idea? How about a kids TV programme set in the death camps of Auschwitz? Or how about a kid’s summer camp run by paedophiles? The parents have no idea what they are encouraging their kids to do. I honestly believe that these kids would throw themselves at Luke if they knew about him, believing him to be a melancholy romantic hero and not the inconsiderate monster that he is. And he would take full advantage and gobble them up like a fairytale wolf. They have no idea. But listen to me sounding like a concerned social worker…

I’ll begin your education with the obvious question. Does a vampire live forever? It was one of my first questions to Luke, so I have no doubt that it is one of yours too. Luke said that Leonard had selected me because of ‘my excellent memory and frequent experiences of déjà vu’. At the time I didn’t completely understand, but now I realise that this was essential to my transformation.

Everyone has memories that they can’t locate in their memory of their present life. These might vary from a vague sense of deja-vu once in a while to intense, vivid memories of faces, places, smells, pieces of music etc that they cannot associate with personal experience. Luke taught me that there are remnants of our past lives that are carried over into our present life. He said that the memory of a past life is at its most vivid after birth and it fades as we grow older. He told me that babies cry so bitterly because they still remember their past life, past loves, a former family, and they are mourning the fact that they cannot return. It seemed to make sense. He told me that most people are stuck in a loop, finishing one life and immediately starting another, over and over again and carrying through memories and vague recollections from each of these former lives. For most people these past lives are completely forgotten because their mind cannot possibly contain all the knowledge acquired in these former lives. However for some people, the emergence of a special skill or ability that is not fostered by parental motivations or their immediate environment is an indicator that a former life is seeping through into the present life and the brain is able to recognise it and integrate it into the present life. In Luke’s case it was dancing. And in my case it was an ability to play the piano.

I can’t stop looking at people around me and wondering whether their eccentricities and odd behaviours are the result of their current environment or learned behaviours that haunt them from a past life. Was the child prodigy a skilled violin player in his previous life? Has the violent killer carried his aggression through from centuries earlier? And here is where you and I differ. Control and awareness. The vampire’s mind and intellect is strong enough to harness these memories to his/her advantage and whereas for most people they are a fleeting familiar feeling that they have no control over, the vampire can hold them in his/her mind long enough to explore these latent skills and develop this forgotten knowledge. I was pleased to learn that I have a huge databank of knowledge that is currently lying untapped in my mind and I will hopefully be able to access it in the near future. However my enthusiasm for this new skill was soon dampened when I learned why the vampire is able to do this. Again, this is where you and I differ.

At some point during one of your many lives you find salvation, the cycle will be broken and you will be freed. Whether that freedom is a nirvana-like garden of Eden location, a fire-and-damnation pit of Hell or eternity haunting the corridors of the local medical centre depends upon your religious inclination, but it is freedom nonetheless. The vampire is never freed. The vampire is locked in a continual cycle of death and rebirth that it cannot escape from. Luke finds it very difficult to discuss the reasons for why this is and it seems that this inability to free ourselves is a mystery to most vampires. I’ve wondered whether it is something that we are doing to ourselves, or whether it has been bestowed upon us like some kind of curse. Luke finds the latter difficult to accept because it implies a God-like intellect that can influence our place within the cycle. He prefers the popular belief – held by most vampires - that the consumption of blood is a primal act that binds us to the earth and prevents us from advancing beyond our humanity towards a more spiritual existence. But that’s a discussion for another time.

The benefits of this perpetual reincarnation are that we can harness the skills and knowledge acquired in our former lives, however our awareness of this cycle of rebirth also has a detrimental effect on our sense of self and our purpose in life. Luke no longer makes future plans, he does not plan to keep relationships for a long time, he does not plan for a career and he does not plan to have children. He is just killing time until the next time round. Luke tells me that Leonard suffered terribly with this. Leonard said that it gets worse with each existence, you become more frustrated, more lethargic about your future, you are haunted by terrible memories, and you sit waiting impatiently for the end of this life and the beginning of the next, particularly when your body passes a certain age.

In a way I am pleased to learn that I will age and die. Immortality, it seems, does not mean that I will keep the same face and body forever. I understand now that immortality is not a physical state, but it is an awareness of this cycle and the ability to take advantage of it to the full and this is something that I will keep with me forever, or for as long as the cycle remains. But I already feel a vague sense of spiritual lethargy. It is as though a string is tied around my neck and it stretches back through time, through centuries and through the many lives that I have lived. And as a result I feel very old. My soul feels old. And tired. And I spend many nights wondering how long I have been like this, or whether something happened to me years ago that tied me into the cycle. What did I do? Or what did someone do to me to lock me into this?

But you know the strangest thing about this revelation? When Luke started to explain it to me I began to ‘remember’. I had a priori knowledge that came flooding into my consciousness. Luke didn’t teach me about the cycle, he reminded me. And soon after realising this I discovered that the ability to pull memories and skills through into my present life came as second nature. Leonard and Luke didn’t make me a vampire, they ‘reminded’ me that I was a vampire. When I told Luke that I was concerned that I would forget about this in my next life he assured me that in my next life a vampire will find me. He told me that when a vampire is reborn he/she is unaware of their condition until a vampire reminds them of what they really are. This is why Leonard sought out Luke and I and this is why great teachers – well, reminders - like Leonard are essential for our continued survival.

So this is why I have decided to break my silence and write. It is essential that Luke and I continue in our adulthood to educate and reawaken others. And educate I shall.

A Colourful Day

2010-07-10T22:46:00.001+01:00

Today I took the bus into town and I noticed that the white wooden frames on the bay windows of the terrace houses on the main road looked slightly pink as I passed them by. Not red or cerise, just the lightest and subtlest tinge of pink. And it was just around the outside of the frames like a border rather than over the whole frame itself. I thought that the colour was in the window of the bus but when I focused on the white frames the pink colour disappeared.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve noticed a 'pink-ness' around things. I’d think that I was seeing auras, if I only believed in that kind of crap. And I’m trying to ignore the whole blood thing; the thought that it might be ‘bleeding through’ into areas of my physical body is repulsive. God forbid, my eyes. That thought turns my stomach.

To be honest, I think my eyes are screwed. I really should shut down the computer and go outside.

News Report: Woman Crashes Car to Avoid Vampire

2010-07-04T12:31:00.001+01:00

Luke spotted this news story yesterday and it made us smile.

A woman in Colorado crashed her car into a canal last Sunday evening and told police that she had swerved to avoid a vampire that was walking towards her in the middle of the road.

Now that must be one seriously unhinged vampire because, as far as I know, serious physical injury is still possible (not that Luke or I plan on putting the theory to the test anytime soon!). But, most importantly, the news story prompted an entire night long discussion on this question: why did the driver think that the figure was a vampire? It might have been something obvious like a kid coming back from a fancy dress party complete with cloak and glow-in-the-dark fangs, but if not then was there something else in his appearance or behaviour that was ‘vampire-like’? And if the figure did something crazy like flying at the car or turning into a bat, then why the f**k can’t I do that?! :)

A hellish analgesic

2010-06-04T19:05:00.001+01:00

I have been experiencing pains. Really deep, excruciating pains in my stomach that confine me to bed for hours on end. Luke fears that he is the cause of them, or more precisely, that his presence is the cause of them.

His explanation is that the vampire’s primal, dare I say ‘human’, desires are magnified tenfold and we suffer the most terrible pains when attempting to satisfy them. For instance, a vampire who enjoyed his/her food too much in their former life may well find themselves in a constant state of hunger. Upon completing the journey to becoming a vampire, he/she will quickly discover that the act of eating is an uncomfortable and often painful experience. Luke told me that Leonard once said that some vampires starve themselves to extraordinary lengths in order to break the cycle. Although I like to think that I am not a greedy eater, I find that the pains often present themselves after eating and as a result I am very reluctant to eat in public, either in restaurants, at friend’s houses or even snacking when out shopping. So I took Leonard’s warning into account for a few weeks and limited myself to very little food each day, but it didn’t seem to make any difference (and I didn’t lost any weight either, a great disappointment!).

But Luke thinks that my pains are not food related. He confessed that he was often in great pain when in my presence during our sessions at Leonard’s house and this was due in part to his romantic inclinations and desire for human affection. He told me that he suffers with irrepressible feelings of sexual desire and quenching this urge can make him physically ill. Luke suggests therefore, whilst acknowledging that his ego is an active player in his theory, that it is our attraction to one another is causing me physical discomfort.

There is, however, a controlling mechanism that will keep the pains at bay and allow me to fully indulge my augmented human desires. It was horrible to hear it from him, although not entirely unexpected, and now I completely understand. Now I realise why I felt such desperation, such violence and aggression towards Luke during our first blood encounters in the early stages of our relationship. The blood quenches the fires. It soothes the pains. My body was seeking to medicate itself, it was crying out for it. So it seems that my resistance to addiction may be powerless. It is not the blood that I will eventually become addicted to – although Luke tells me that this is an inevitable side effect – but the relief that it brings and the freedom to indulge myself in my desires and live a pain-free life.

And so the wretched cycle beings…

The vampire and the ‘blood lust’

2010-05-09T10:26:00.001+01:00

Sua cuique voluptas. That’s my new excuse.

I suppose that you want to know how it feels? Do I have an uncontrollable desire to rip the throat out of every young, nubile man or woman who passes me by like some kind of enraged, psychotic ghoul straight out of the pages of a gothic horror novella? Well, no, not really. At least, not yet!

The process in its entirety and the after-effects are a bizarre curiosity even to myself, but it is the prelude to the event that continues to fascinate me each time. The last time I experienced it I took account of every sensation in my body so that I could describe it to you. It’s the oddest feeling. I can understand why some folk call it ‘the hunger’ because there is a certain element of a need for internal satiation involved, but this description is very misleading since the process is completely unrelated to the stomach and digestive system.

It starts in my upper body. More specifically, behind both of my shoulder blades. It’s a pleasurable feeling, like someone standing behind is kneading the deep muscles in my back. The warmth shoots down my arms like tribunes of warm water running through my veins and my hands and fingers become very sensitive when making contact with any objects and surfaces. All this happens within a few seconds, so I’m very rarely conscious that I have entered this first stage until I am almost through it (which is a shame because this is a very enjoyable part!).

My sight is the first sense that is affected. I can see perfectly well, as usual, but everything is much sharper. Figures in photographs and magazines seem to step out of the page towards me and I can quite often see a thick black border around objects and people. But although I am alert, I also feel tired. My eyelids become heavy as though I have taken a strong concoction of drugs and alcohol and I’m conscious that I am staring wildly at people and not ashamed to look away when they meet my eye.

I quickly start to detach from the world around me, as though I am watching my surroundings through a TV screen. I’m not present in the scene taking place around me, just an observer, and it feels as though no-one nearby can see me. I am on a grand stage and the people around me are just actors, as pretentious as that sounds. I look at people differently, as thought they have no individuality and exist only to provide me a service. My hands get very tactile around them, I become fascinated by the expressions on their faces and I desperately want to take hold of them and press them against me. And yes, I realise how crazy that sounds!

This is why I like to call it ‘the keening’; everything becomes sharper, more intense and I have a desire to grab at things, to hold them and to study them. When Luke enters this state he pesters me for cuddle and that is usually how I know. He also becomes obsessed with the printed text in books because the letters seem to pop out of the page. It’s very funny to watch him gawking at a newspaper!

The role of sexual desire in the need for blood has been seriously overplayed. I expect that the expression ‘blood lust’ quantifies the frequency of times that sexuality and vampirism have been interlinked. But I would argue that the sense of wanting is no more intense or erotic than the sense of wanting a drink when you are thirsty or wanting food when you are hungry. I wouldn’t say that my hunger for my dinner, for example, is a sexual urge! Yes, the physical embrace, the surge of aggression and the struggle for dominance that takes place during the act has very strong erotic undertones and I completely agree that the embrace itself is a sexual experience (I will talk more on that later), but the initial desire to consume blood is not, in my own particular case and at this early stage in my development, driven by sexual desire.

If I’m in public then I usually stop myself at this point, but if I’m with Luke then I relax and let the next stage take over. It starts with an odd, tingling sensation in the lowest point of my bottom jaw at both sides, just below each ear. The tingling feeling spreads into my entire lower jaw, simultaneously creeping up into my ears and spreading beneath my tongue, causing me to salivate and my tongue to become engorged. The tingling moves forwards into my front lower teeth making them feel as though the teeth and the entire lower jaw are being drawn back and the upper teeth are sliding forwards. But the teeth do not change shape, contrary to popular belief! There is, however, a feeling of ‘pointedness’ in the centre of my face, as though my upper lip and nose are being drawn outwards into a muzzle. I feel quite dog or cat-like when this happens (I wonder sometimes whether this is where the vampire-wolf association originates from? I certainly feel wolf-like!).

If I allow the sensation to continue then my entire upper teeth start to hum and vibrate, which tickles ever so much! The odd feeling in my lower jaw and ears begins to calm, but my hearing blocks (predominantly in my right ear) and sounds become muted and distant. To relieve the uncomfortable, although not entirely unpleasant, sensation in my teeth I have an overwhelming urge to open my mouth and press them into something like a teething baby trying to relieve the pressure of new teeth breaking through the gum. The tickly vibration is instantly calmed upon the application of pressure.

Now here’s the surprising part. The urge to bite isn’t as all-consuming as some would have you believe. I actually find that part of the process quite distasteful, clumsy and embarrassing. But experience tells me that what lies beneath the skin is so desirable that I must break through to it. I often compare my motivation at this point to breaking through the bitter skin of an orange to get at the juicy fruit inside. It’s messy and frustrating but well worth the effort! Luke usually helps me – he’s very conscious of his appearance and doesn’t like to make a mess!

It’s the pleasurable shock of the transition from dry skin and hard teeth to warm liquid and wet tongue that kills me every time. That very second is what makes me come back for more. Each taste bud on my tongue has become extremely sensitive and blood is the most electrifying and complex sensation that it can taste. If you have ever cut yourself and licked the blood from the wound then you are familiar with the unpleasant, salty, coppery taste of blood. It is thin and cold, like sucking on an old penny. But the raw taste of warm blood that I take from Luke is very, very intense. In fact it doesn’t taste, it burns. Have you ever had a shot of strong alcohol that is so potent that it turns to vapour in your mouth when you drink it? That is how it feels. It still has that heavy metallic copper-like quality, but it is much saltier and there are deep textures and flavours that I have never experienced in any food and drink that I have ever consumed. Exceptionally salty cheese comes close, or a strong liquor like an Armagnac, but if I could recreate the sensation through food and drink then there would be no need for this abhorrent ritual! Having said that, I am not repulsed at the idea that I am consuming the vital fluids of another person, it honestly feels as though the blood belongs to me. It feels like I am absorbing part of myself through another person. I realise that I have a close bond with Luke and I’m not sure that I would feel the same about a stranger, but hopefully I will never have to deal with that situation.

Although it is very more-ish, to be honest I don’t understand the whole addiction scenario. I like a drop of alcohol but that doesn’t make me an alcoholic. This is something that I enjoy and I could easily indulge myself on a regular basis, but I think that I am mature and restrained enough for addiction to not become an issue. I can understand how someone can think that ingesting more and more can increase their power or strength, just like a weight trainer ingests steroids in the hope that it will make him stronger, because it does have a noticeable effect on me. I can feel it coursing through my body afterwards and it has some fascinating – and surprising! – effects upon my body (I’ll talk more about that at a later stage).

And I’m lucky that I don’t have a problem with ‘the rage’. Luke sometimes struggles with his aggression and we have to monitor that. I experienced it myself once and it was a very powerful emotion. It was an all-consuming sense of power, limitless strength and the enticing temptation to destroy the delicate life in my possession. I can understand how that emotion could become addictive.

So that’s all I can put into words, for now. It’s such a complicated mix of sensations and emotions that it is difficult to describe in a clinical manner. Perhaps in future I will discover the ability to be more eloquent and expressive in these little educational posts. Most literary and movie vampires (and even Luke!) seem to have a natural talent for expressing themselves in a poetic and articulate way. Maybe I should invest in some billowy, new-Romantic shirts after all!

By His wounds

2010-05-05T20:18:00.001+01:00

I must confess to feeling a little disappointed that the scars on my arm haven’t healed completely by now. The bones have re-strengthened and the doctors tell me that I am healing much quicker than expected (an 18mth recovery period has been condensed into 6mths), but the surface scars seem to be taking a much longer. My doctor thinks I’m insane; he tells me that these type of bone-deep scars can last a lifetime whereas mine have faded to nothing in only 6mths. He says it’s a miracle. But in someway I hope that a remnant of the scar remains. It will be a constant reminder of the most important decision that I ever made.

December 2009 May 2010

A familiar practice

2010-04-24T20:50:00.001+01:00

It wasn’t painful. And it wasn’t upsetting. But it made me cry for about an hour afterwards. In some respects it was a carbon copy of my earlier experience (as documented here ) but I had much more control over myself this time. Having said that, there was a point at which I desperately wanted to cling onto him and bleed the life out of him. I felt myself begin to press down harder and tempered my anger, just in time before I did any serious harm.

Luke and I are closer now and the tension between us has completely dissipated. I’m glad that it’s over and we know, for definite, that we will have no problems sustaining one another. We keep smiling at each other as though we are party to a really terrible secret. And I suppose we are! I fell asleep wrapped around him on the sofa last night and I wasn’t scared. I trust him completely. And I didn’t feel ill when I awoke. In fact, I feel much more comfortable in my skin today. My arm doesn’t ache and my scars don’t itch.

And my hair colour is changing, how crazy is that?

The malaise

2010-04-13T21:24:00.001+01:00

I have been subject to a strange and recurrent sensation recently. It begins with a thin, white smoke-like substance that hangs in the air right before my eyes and clouds my vision. This is accompanied by the sensation that I am somehow ‘fading out’; that I am disconnecting from my surroundings and the people around me are unaware of my presence. On Monday morning I felt myself descend into this strange feeling yet again, but this time I also felt the presence of a heavy, musty peat-like substance at my back and the stomach-flipping feeling that I was quickly sinking backwards into it. That scared me greatly and so I finally confided in Luke this afternoon.

At first he laughed and said that ‘strange sensations are part of being a woman’, but when I pressed him on it he confessed that he often feels it too. He calls it ‘the malaise’ and he warned me that it will get much worse over time because I will have more memories to dwell on. More worries, more regrets.

He then told me ‘the malaise’ is not only a sign that emotional and psychological changes are taking place, but it is also an indication that chemical changes are taking place within my body and I am beginning to develop a dependency. I know what he is referring to, but how can I crave something that I have never had? Well, not in any great quantity at least. To be honest, I am glad that the subject has come to the fore because it has been over two months since we started living together and I have been too afraid to ask. Too afraid ask what will happen next and how we will take the inevitable next step together. We just co-exist at the moment, watching TV, reading, writing poetry and music and even sleeping separately because I am not allowed to make contact with him. Once again, I foolishly believed the movies and expected changes to take place immediately and for us to be sharing much sooner than this. But Luke tells me that the preparation of my physical body takes a great deal of time and I should wait for before we attempt anything. However, recent events suggest that I am almost ready.

A promise

2010-03-26T11:01:00.001Z

Luke is frustrating me greatly. I hate the way that he hides himself recently. He hides his beauty, his strength, his sexuality. Every powerful part of his character is hidden away and he speaks about us like some kind of taboo, unspeakable horror. He was so very confident but now he is guarded, cautious when out in public and reluctant to speak to strangers. I really hope that his sense of responsibility to me hasn’t dampened his confidence.

I confronted him about it yesterday afternoon and he refused to admit that his behaviour has changed. He told me that secrecy is an essential tool employed by ‘people like us’ in order to go about our everyday life. We rarely like to draw attention to ourselves and usually settle for dead end jobs where we can widle away time while trying to manage our condition.

This life isn’t for me, at all. Yes, I have yet to fully immerse myself in the lifestyle, but I refuse to hide away and pity myself as though I have an untreatable medical disorder. I admired the old Luke, the brutal, charismatic Luke that would swagger around Leonard’s house like a disobedient teenager and I am determined to grow into the person that he used to be. I refuse to shy away and hide in the shadows. I am proud of my new status and I am determined to run headfirst towards my future. And if the monsters chase me then I will run faster.

Luke may well choke on it, but I can say ‘vampire’ and I am not ashamed.

The prospect of others

2010-03-14T09:12:00.001Z

I’ve been thinking a lot about Leonard recently. I really miss him and I’m tempted to start looking for him again. Luke probably knows his whereabouts, but each time I mention him he tells me to forget him and move on. It’s quite shocking to hear Luke speak so dismissively of Leonard, especially since he usually treasures his past so dearly and preserves each memory so very carefully. But, to be honest, I’m not sure whether it is Leonard that I want to find or just another person like us. I seriously doubt that we are alone and the prospect of others both excites me and makes me feel a little paranoid. Luke is very knowledgeable and I feel safe with him, but he is new to this too. I want to find someone who has lived through this for years and found ways of coping, someone who can teach me the same methods. So maybe it’s not familiarity that I am seeking, but the reassurance of experience. I want to find them. But I am afraid that I will meet monsters.

Newborn

2010-02-28T11:49:00.001Z

To be honest, I don’t feel a great deal different than I did before my accident. Maybe Luke is right and I am expecting too much. We’ve talked about my anticipation of a dramatic change and it appears that I went through the major sensory changes in the latter part of last year. The improved hearing, the breakdown of my physical state, the heightened awareness of my environment…

I’m disappointed that some clichés are wide of the mark. I can’t transform into an animal, I can’t fly through the air and, most frustratingly, I can’t read minds. But did I really think that I would be able to do these things? Did I *really* think that I would develop psychic powers?! I’m so cynical of psychic phenomena that I would probably still be sceptical even if I could read your thoughts right now. But, having said that, I have discovered that I am more attentive in conversation and I can read human behaviour very effectively. I can see the tiniest flicker of lust, greed, obsession, and I can spot a liar instantly. Luke tells me that I can develop these skills to the degree that I can virtually read a person’s mind, so watch this space!

There are two further ‘skills’ that I developed last year that have improved considerably over the past few months. The first is that I can think much quicker than before. My mind is able to process information at a much faster rate, which is proving very helpful for my studies! The second is that my ability to feel objects without touching them and just by looking at them is becoming more sensitive and controlled. For this reason, each time we leave the house I am like an excitable child because I can’t wait to engage with the outside world. I recently had a follow-up appointment at the hospital and Luke was very amused on the bus ride to the hospital because I became obsessed with the hair of the woman sat in front of me. I just stared intently at the back of her head for the entire journey and Luke fell into hysterical laughter the second that we got off the bus.

Although I have not demonstrated any dramatic physical changes since leaving the hospital, I would say that this ability to touch, hear and taste reality in its rawest form has been the most enjoyable aspect of the experience so far. The whole world around me has become a fascinating cacophony of sounds, feelings and sensations that were previously hidden from me. It is as though the artificial film that was previously numbing my senses has been scraped off the surface and every sight and sound is now amplified a hundredfold. Even going to the corner shop to buy bread is a rollercoaster of intense emotion and new discoveries. It’s a lot to take in but I am enjoying every second.

2010-02-21T12:41:00.005Z

'Do not be afraid. I am the first and the last,
and I am the living one;

for I was dead and now I am alive for evermore,

and I hold the keys of Death and Hades.’

(Revelation 1:17-18)

A welcome guest

2010-02-21T12:20:00.001Z

So, the past three months in a nutshell…

I woke up in the hospital to find Luke sat patiently in the visitor’s chair by my bed, chatting to the old woman in the next cubicle. He was surprisingly unsympathetic and treated my accident very matter-of-factly, asking how soon I would be discharged from A&E as though he was there to collect me from the dentists after a check-up or from the salon after a haircut. His indifference to my injuries scared me a little, so I was grateful that it was my mum who came to collect me on my discharge day.

I lay in bed at my parent’s house with my right arm in a bright pink fibreglass cast and my laptop balanced on my knees, checking my emails and replying to all the well wishes that I had received from my fellow students at University. Although I was very uncomfortable, tired and in pain, it was the first time in months that I was truly alone and able to relax. But within only a few days of arriving home, my inbox started to fill with emails from Luke asking when he could see me. I ignored them at first, but when his tone became very irritated and persistent I replied with a short email explaining that it was very difficult to meet him in my current state, especially since mum was constantly watching over me, but promising that I would speak with him in the New Year. The insistence in his emails concerned me a little and I started to wonder why he needed to see me so urgently.

The Christmas celebrations were understandably muted this year. I felt very unwell throughout the festive celebrations and dad persistently asked questions about the circumstances of my accident (I told him that I had got drunk with friends and it was an innocent accident). A concoction of penicillin and painkillers knocked me out for most of Christmas Day and I slept for the entire afternoon (after gagging repeatedly on a beautiful Christmas dinner!).

On New Year’s Eve I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to see Luke. I don’t know whether it was the whole ‘new beginning’ ambience of New Year or just the fact that we like to have those we love close to us at that time, but it was as though he had a direct number into my brain and he was ringing it like a mobile phone every minute of the day. Although I thought about him constantly, I was afraid to contact him because he had behaved so oddly in the hospital. As fond as I am of Luke, he does have a tendency to become distant and cold at times and he can be quite intimidating when gets fixed in that mindset. But, apprehensions aside, I really needed to be in his presence. I needed his strength. His reassurance.

Mum came to live with me for a while until I had my cast removed, which was very sweet of her. She left when I told her that Amber was moving in and she would take over mum’s ‘care duties’. But the truth is that Amber didn’t move in. Luke did. The very afternoon that she left he arrived with his bags and started to unpack. It was a strange situation and I wasn’t sure how to interpret our new relationship. Were we a bone-fide couple now? Or was he just keeping a close eye on me to make sure that I didn’t do anything silly again? It has taken some time to get used to having him living with me, but he has been very supportive and useful to have around, although I fear that I am becoming too dependant on him. I bother him all the time, asking silly questions and constantly looking for reassurance. He is patient most of the time, but sometimes he snaps at me like a domineering father. Thankfully he always apologises afterwards so there is never any awkwardness between us. Having said that, I have noticed that his manner has become very ‘professional’. It feels as though he is guarding me rather than living with me, as though has been entrusted with my care and poised on tenterhooks for something unexpected to happen.

But I am happy to tolerate his current volatile, agitated state because I don’t quite know what to expect either. I’ve seen the films and read the books and if they are to be believed then I should be wracked with pain and guilt by now, but apart from an excruciating pain in my arm and a constant feeling of nausea I feel pretty ok. Occasionally I feel a little down and depressed, but the doctor’s tell me that this is a natural reaction to my injuries and it won’t last for long. I describe every strange pain and sensation to Luke in the hope that my body might be showing signs of change, but he is insistent that I should rid myself of any preconceived ideas of transformative processes. He tells me that ‘the largest part of the work is already done’, it is still early days and the medication is giving me an artificial reality at the moment so I should prepare myself for a bumpy ride over the next few months. If truth be told I’m very excited and very apprehensive at the same time. It’s an odd mix of emotion, a little, I expect, like the emotions experienced upon finding out that you’re pregnant.

I am, however, certain of one thing; I’m determined not to become one of those whiny, faux-accented, melancholy types. I intend to preserve as much of my former self as possible and I have no desire whatsoever to be forced into an uncomfortable stereotype just to fulfil a few teenage wet dreams. I will embrace whatever happens and let nature will take its course, however unnaturally that may be…

A Liquor Amnii of blood and morphine

2010-02-14T21:04:00.001Z

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again/from above

he cannot see the kingdom of God" (John 3:3)

If you’ve followed my story thus far then I suppose you’re wondering whether it worked. The truth is, I don’t know.

I can’t remember much of the day after my last blog post. I don’t remember leaving the house, speaking to anyone or taking the bus into town. I can’t even remember the simple thoughts that went through my mind just seconds before I mustered enough courage to override every naturally defensive reaction in my body.

I came round in the post-op recovery room, fading in and out of consciousness and being violently sick into a little grey cardboard bowl. I was alone, except for the young anaesthetist who stood at the bottom of the bed like a thin gaunt spectre in a theatre gown. He told me that he had administered the maximum amount of medication but I was weakening rapidly and the fervour with which he urged me to stay awake suggested that now I was on my own, fighting for survival. The porters took me to the main A&E ward to let me sleep off the remainder of the anaesthetic, but the pains kept me awake. My entire body was battered and bruised and my arms were dotted with puncture marks where intravenous needles had fed morphine and antibiotics into my system. But it was the right arm that had suffered the most damage. I had broken both bones in the lower arm and it was an open fracture, so the doctors had stitched the wound where the bone had broken the skin and operated to insert two steel bars to brace the bones. I was a bloody mess but, thankfully, I was alive.

I lay in my hospital bed that night watching the nurses rush backwards and forwards along the ward and deciding whether to tell them. Deciding whether to pick one and start the process all over again. But they wouldn’t believe me. At one point I even called one of the nurses over to the bed, but when she asked what was wrong I realised that if I started to talk about my ‘accident’ then she would probably ship me down to the mental ward pronto!

It has been a slow process but the doctors have been surprised by my rapid recovery. My bones have strengthened well over the last 3 months, which is much faster than the usual expected 12-18 months for this kind of injury. My physiotherapist is shocked that I have regained the use of my arm and hand so quickly, particularly in view of the extensive damage that I suffered to the ulnar and median nerve. She tells me that she has never seen such a dramatic recovery in her professional career. But I know that I mustn’t get excited and read too much into that.

So now I’ve found my voice again. I’m not quite sure how I am going to use it, or even if anyone wants to hear what I have to say but, since I started writing The Omega Course on the 15th February 2009, it seemed appropriate to start afresh (almost) exactly one year to the day. St Valentine’s Day 2010.

It is a new beginning. And one that I approach with some trepidation. But this time I am not the pupil, I am the teacher. And I’m going to teach you everything - well, almost everything – that I know.

Lama Sabachthani

2009-11-27T14:51:00.001Z

Seven weeks have passed since I last saw Leonard or Luke. Forty days exactly last Friday. I miss them both terribly and still cling to the hope that we can heal our wounded friendship, but I am also increasingly optimistic about my future without them. This new-found self-confidence was prompted by a reassuring encounter that I had earlier this week. I was walking through the crowds of shoppers in the centre of town on Tuesday morning when I was suddenly overcome by a ‘sense of’ Luke. It was a strange sensation, similar in some respects to the familiar feeling experienced when in close proximity to family members or good friends, but much more intense. It was a primal awareness of one’s one kin, a little, I expect, like a baby recognising her mother from her smell or tone of voice. I understand now that although I cannot see Luke, he is closer to me than I realise and I am once again protected by his love. And the very thought that he is nearby has served to strengthen me sufficiently to make a number of important decisions that I hope will make our separation easier to bear.

The first decision that I have made is this; I cannot mourn Leonard forever and there is a point at which I must come to terms with my circumstances and learn to stand on my own two feet. I am gradually making peace with the torments and horrors that I have encountered over these last few months and I realise that these were the necessary birth-pangs for my current state. Now that I have emerged from this chrysalis stage, I must learn to appreciate the skills that Leonard has taught me and use them to my full advantage. The young naive girl that I was almost a year ago is no longer with us and I should be thankful for the huge benefits that Leonard has brought to my life. For instance, I should be grateful that a regular income is assured by the charm that I keep in my purse and I should be grateful that I find it easy to attract friends and ensure their undying loyalty. I should also be grateful that men are easy to ensnare and that they instantly declare their love without hesitation, to the extent that I have found it necessary to develop a series of callous rebuttals or excuses relating to work commitments or family issues. I should also be grateful that my senses have developed so keenly that I can hear the processor whirring inside my computer and I can feel the texture of things by simply looking at them. But I must accept that the side-effects of these techniques are not always pleasant. I still experience a series of disturbing ailments that upset my daily routine and these horrific experiences tend to manifest themselves each time I sit to write, from petty bouts of bad luck to encounters with unnerving characters in everyday situations that terrify me beyond belief. I know that I am watched, but I’m not sure by whom and as a consequence I am greatly afraid as you read this.

Second, I have decided that this will be my last blog post. There is little else that I can share with you, dear reader, since I doubt that I will return to my lessons at Elmfield House. Not that I shared a great deal with you previously! I apologise that I have only granted you brief glimpses of my weird and wonderful education, but I am reluctant to reveal all about the skills that I have acquired for a number of reasons. First, Leonard taught me that if I revealed these things in writing then I would offend the gods and commit the greatest sin of all, therefore the punishment for doing this will be great. But I am not concerned with the wrath of the gods. The true reason that I have concealed my wisdom from you is this; humanity wrongly believes that it has a god-given right to all knowledge and that it is entitled to learn every secret that the gods hide from it. It is desperate to clamber up the tree of knowledge to bag the biggest, juiciest apple in order to preserve its sorry life for just a few seconds longer. But the truth is, as you will come to understand, that humans are the vilest, foulest creatures to walk the earth and if I had the power and inclination then I would not allow you to breathe the air, drink the water or reproduce let alone grant you permission to this knowledge. Humanity does not deserve to find salvation. But some of you deserve a chance...

Previously my severe paranoia and escalating disdain for humanity caused me to take great care to conceal my writings; saving files under seeming innocuous names and even telling my friends that I had taken to writing poetry. But now I have no need to hide away and equally no need to protect my discoveries from whatever foolish mess the reader will make with them. So go back through my writings and you will discover that what was previously hidden is now revealed. I will watch with great interest as you stumble like little children down the dark alleys that I have laid out before you. And who knows, I might even be one of the monsters waiting for you in the dark. The truth will remain hidden in plain sight for only the smartest, most deserving of readers, to discover and hopefully some of you may even follow in my footsteps. For others, the greatest secret that I can reveal it is this: guard yourself preciously, for the river of the gold of Kings runs through you. Each of you possesses a jewel that is not only fascinating and compelling to us but also necessary for our survival. Many centuries ago a special gift came down through the Pharaohs, it passed through numerous kings and great leaders and even through the Twelve. Now it has passed into me and, no doubt, into countless others. It is a special bond, much stronger than life itself and only we can choose who shares in it. So ignore the priest when he insists that you take the bread and wine, because you may as well eat mud and milk. He cannot share the true communion with you, because salvation is NOT for everyone. Eternal life is NOT for everyone. It is only for the chosen few. And this is why we choose carefully.

On a personal note, I know that my salvation will be found in Luke. He will be there for me when I need him most. He will be my new mother, my saviour from death, my first breath of air. Luke has previously undergone this transformation and he will be to me as Leonard was to him. He will be the angel in my tomb. And so it is with this comfort in mind that I have arrived at my final decision...

I have been haunted by a series of temptations over the past few months. The temptation to use my newly acquired status and knowledge to gain power, authority and self-gratification is all-consuming and human nature compels us to test our boundaries in this respect. However there is another temptation that I am finding increasingly difficult to ignore. I realise that there are some questions that cannot be answered by reading books or engaging in academic discussion, but only through direct experimentation and personal experience. I have been keen to commit myself, my work, my life and even my sanity to make new discoveries on previous occasions, however this particular experiment requires a considerable degree of trust, commitment and self-sacrifice. The risk is monumental, but the torments of curiosity are hounding me to test it.

I know of two great magicians; one tragically failed in his attempts for glory and paid the ultimate price, the other succeeded and as a result he will never see an end to his days. The latter is a great man – an ‘irrepressible, unbiddable, devious, rarely deferential, solitary’ - and if he had not been so keen to save me, I would have let him thoroughly corrupt me. In fact, he’s probably still out there right now, evangelising to the unprepared. Both he and Luke have moulded me into their perfect image in the same way, I expect, that they were once moulded by other hands. They have equipped me to stand alone and survive, to grow without fear, to learn without entertaining madness, to strengthen myself without being appalled. And so now I realise that I have not been orphaned but that I have been entrusted with my own growth and development. I have been kicked out of the nest to see if I can fly. Since I am their apprentice and my experiences to date leave me no doubt as to my equal abilities, I believe that I have proven my authority to be obeyed. I know that both the demonic and divine continue to watch over me and I have gained their undying compliance to act at my immediate behest. I have read every word, carried out every ritual and attained the perfect physical state in preparation for this final transformation. I am my own Saviour. And this is the true faith. Not the trust in a saving God, but the faith that I hold in my own actions, my own knowledge and my own authority.

And so I find myself either at the beginning or the end of a very exciting adventure. Tomorrow, on the feast of the 13th day, I shall find myself a great height, high up amongst the Christmas lights of the city, from which to cast myself down. I fully expect that I will be borne up and restored to the fullness of life. But not only restored to my former state, I shall be born into a new, feral and timeless existence on this earth. The hunted shall become the hunter. If the gods and powers do not obey me and the second temptation is false, then I hope that the reader, my family and my friends will understand why I was led to this unavoidable final decision. However, should I come to reread these words again then I will know, with absolute certainty, that men can be gods.

Antes muerto que mudado

2009-11-21T16:15:00.000Z

I stayed in bed all day yesterday, just feeling nauseous and aching inside and out. When I finally got out of bed to go to the toilet, the room started spinning and I had to practically crawl on my hands and knees into the bathroom. I braced myself against the sink and stared into the mirror for a good ten minutes or so, studying the unfamiliar face staring back at me. My eyes were red and sore, my breathing was laboured and my movements were disconnected to my reflection. I am unrecognisable, even to myself.

This morning I sat alone in my bedroom and took a self-portrait with my digital camera. There was very little light in the room and the angle was not flattering (I could hear Leonard’s voice insisting that I raised the blinds a little to allow for some natural sunlight) but the resulting picture was shocking. My skin is pale and almost transparent and the whites of my eyes look dark and reptilian.

Please Luke, if you read this, I can't do this without you. I am hurting, emotionally *and* physically and I need you. I need you to help me. I need you to revive me. I need you to keep me safe. I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.

Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking

2009-11-17T09:59:00.002Z

Something terrible has happened. Yesterday afternoon I gathered the strength to visit Elmfield House again and I didn’t need to knock the door to know that Leonard wasn’t there. I found fliers for club nights cellotaped inside the front window and a mountain bike chained to the fence outside. It seems that Elmfield House is being rented out to students. The dogs didn’t even bark as I walked up the path, they just sat mournfully by the back door of their house and watched me pass by. And so it looks as though I am orphaned. And unforgiven.

The sadness inside me this morning is unbearable. I have committed the ultimate betrayal and as a result I have lost a father and a lover and neither of them will ever be replaced. I miss Luke so much more than anyone I’ve ever lost in my entire life. I lay awake last night and prayed that he will find me again and this morning I woke up with a pain in my chest as though my heart has become a heavy stone. It’s a real ache. My heart actually ACHES. And I cry each time I think about him, each time I wonder whether he misses me too. I need him so desperately and I don’t think that I’m ever going to find anyone else like him. The thought that I will have to find someone else to share this special type of relationship with terrifies me. How do I find someone who will understand?

Bloom

2009-11-12T09:15:00.003Z

Last night I had another session with the flower that Luke picked for me a while back. It is still in bloom and I think that my work on it is paying off.

Luke, if you ever read this, I think it is working. I can do it.

Pity is but a poor defence for a dying heart

2009-11-10T14:55:00.001Z

Still no word from Leonard or Luke. Or from Alex, for that matter. And it is quite literally killing me.

I miss Luke so very much and thoughts of him cloud every second of my day. In addition to the emotional heartbreak, the physical cost of our separation is becoming increasingly severe. I am losing weight dramatically. I can't stop drinking water. The skin on my chest and arms is sallow and cold. I cannot get warm. But I have my strength and no fever, so I know that I am not ill. I realise that I have a dependency on him, aside from our love of each other, that needs attending to.

All that I have left of him are his poems and the marks of our first and last embrace...

Feeding the hell hounds

2009-11-06T14:07:00.002Z

I really feel as though I am losing my mind. I just don't know what to believe anymore. I need to speak to Leonard, but I am too afraid to see him. All I have left of our friendship is the framed portrait of our first work together and a handful of photographs. Each photograph reminds me of a story; the season, the stage in our working relationship, our topic of conversation at the time. Even the worries and hopes in my mind the moment the shutter clicked.

I am still storing my sitting clothes separate from my everyday clothes in my wardrobe and each morning I check the letterbox for a postcard from him. But nothing has arrived so far. A friend of mine took some photographs of me last week and although I adamantly insisted that the working environment was identical to that at Elmfield House and he complied with my uncompromising demands, his work had a skin-deep glamour sheen and my soul was absent from the pictures. I knew instantly when looking at his photographs that I would never sit for anyone but Leonard.

But it is not only Leonard that I am missing. I need to see Luke too, to speak to him, to hold him, to tell him that I understand. My desire to see Luke gave me the motivation and courage to visit Elmfield House yesterday afternoon. The neighbour’s dogs did their usual barking and wailing when I walked through the alleyway and I knew that Leonard had surely been alerted to my presence. My hands were shaking as I took hold of the knocker on the front door and I knocked loudly and sufficiently to wake Leonard from his afternoon nap. Any further noise would just be rude if he was unable to answer the door. That’s unless he was dead, of course. The thought that he could be lying dead, slumped over his easel perhaps, was justification enough to peer through the window. But I couldn’t see anything through the muslin curtains, so I've decided to wait until I receive a phone call or a postcard from him before venturing out again. Surely he will forgive me in time.

Samhain

2009-10-31T15:50:00.002Z

I am writing this on my laptop on the floor of my front room, where I have been sat all afternoon in floods of inconsolable tears. The world around me is descending into madness and rapidly dragging me down with it. I feel painfully alone, confused and very, very scared.

I agreed to meet Amber for lunch at midday today and she knew that something was dreadfully wrong from the second she saw me. To be honest, the last thing I wanted to do today was eat or hold a conversation, but I wanted her off my back. One less thing to worry about. She eyed me with concern until our food arrived and then took to asking incessantly whether she had upset me. Eventually I snapped “I’m fine!” and we sat in silence for quite some time as she watched me twist my salad leaves around my fork. She looked quite shocked and didn't know what to say, for once. Very few people dare to lose their temper with her, but fortunately, rather than fly into a rage, she mustered her concerned voice and calmly asked how I was coping without Alex. I reassured her that Alex was the least of my concerns, which prompted her to enquire if anything else was bothering me. How is the university course going? Am I up to date with my bills? When did I last speak to my family? She exhausted every option until eventually, under persistent questioning, I gave in to her prying. But rather than reveal the true cause of my malaise, I spat out:

"It’s just a silly disagreement that I had with Leonard about working hours, that’s all."

Leonard has rarely entered our conversations until now. Amber knows about our work together, but she seems to avoid asking about him. At first I thought that she was worried that he would replace her as my closest friend and confidant and she would eventually become less important in my life. But it has become apparent over time that her underlying jealousy for our relationship is founded on her own personal desire for attention. She desperately wants to sit for an artist too. However on this particular occasion she was keen to engage in a deep discussion about Leonard, leaning forwards on her chair, furrowing her brow in concern and nodding furiously. I knew that she was only interested in talking about him at that time because I was criticising him and she could easy manipulate the conversation to further sour our friendship. But I needed an ear to listen.

“So what’s the problem with the hours you’re working?” she asked.
“Well, to be honest, it’s not just the hours…”
“Then what else?”
I paused and rested my fork on the plate. I had lost my appetite.
“He trusted me with a secret. Something very precious to him that no-one should know. And I’ve told someone…”
“Can you tell me?”
“No, but I think I might already have...”

I was reluctant to reveal too much about the intricacies of this statement, so I told her that I enjoyed the conversations between Leonard and I and that I was scared to lose his friendship over a silly disagreement (to which she looked a little hurt and I could see the protest on the tip of her tongue: ‘what about our conversations? Are they not good enough?’) . We sat in silence for a while and then Amber did something very out of character. She made a genuine and seemingly interested attempt to find out more about Leonard.

"So when did you last speak to him?"
"Over a week ago now, just before my fight with Alex..."
"Oh right". She nodded. “How did the two of you end up working together anyway?”
“It just kind of happened,” I answered “we met at a funeral back in December last year. It was a young boy who had died suddenly…a friend of his…I can’t remember his name or the cause of death…”

Suddenly I was silenced mid-sentence as though God Himself had held my tongue. The sickening nausea that swept over me was akin to the dizzying shock of an accident. Amber looked puzzled at me and asked a question, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Nor could I hear my response. Nothing in the world was more important than my thought processes at that very moment. Not even breathing. All I was aware of was a horrific, horrific realisation that made my chest tighten and my throat constrict. It was as though time and reality had fractured for a second and everything felt unreal, a little like hearing of a death. Thousands of memories and thoughts flooded through me and everything began to click into place.

Making my excuses, I snatched my coat from the back of the chair and stood to leave. Amber grabbed at my arm and asked if I was ok. I remember promising to call her, handing her a note from my purse to cover the cost of our lunch and quickly running out of the cafe before she could question me any further (she must be very confused right now!). My head was buzzing and I barely remember leaving the cafe or even walking through the busy high street in the centre of town. I was in such a fluster that I was constantly bumping into people and as I turned a corner I was met by a shock. There was a tall man dressed in a skeleton outfit with a wooden sign standing directly in front of me. I nearly crashed straight into him and he was so tall and frighteningly dressed that the sight of him really shook me up. He was directing people to a new retail outlet that had opened in the main shopping area and when I looked to my left there were similarly dressed people handing out fliers. Then I realised; today is 31st October, All Hallow's Eve. And the main street was full of Halloween festivities. The next shop window that I passed was filled with mannequins dressed as ghosts and witches and then I saw a child whose face had been painted to resemble a vampire, complete with white face paint and blood-stained lips. It was a really bizarre experience. I’m usually very resilient to shocks and scares, but I found myself walking through the city centre staring at the pavement in front of me like a scared little girl, too afraid to look up in case I saw something that would frighten me. It sounds so very silly admitting to the fact that I was scared, but it felt as though in my confused state I was blurring the safe line between illusion and reality. The costumes and the make-up didn’t feel like fakery and each encounter seemed very real. It felt as though there were real witches around me. Real ghosts and ghouls. Real vampires. It had taken a lot of courage for me to come out in public, particularly into an area with busy crowds, and I wished that I had stayed in the safety of my house.

I tried to cut myself off visually from my surroundings, but when I did so I only descended further into the mental torments that I was entangling myself up in. My mind was racing and I couldn't stop it. I was remembering half sentences and little comments that Luke or Leonard had made to me or each other and they seemed to take on a whole new meaning. I felt numb. My body wound unconsciously through the crowds and my step felt lighter than usual, as though I was walking on air. I was dredging up every memory of our afternoons spent together and desperately searching for clues, any indication that my suspicions were real. And the more that I remembered, the more my fears seemed to fall into place. Leonard’s obsession with the body after death. Luke's lessons on magical resurrection. Their close friendship and mutual obsession with immortality. Luke's current physical state. Our co-dependant relationship. People seemed to pass by in a haze and the bus journey home felt by far the longest journey that I have ever taken. By the time that I had arrived at my stop I barely remember getting off the bus or making the short walk home.

Arriving home, I burst through the front door, threw my keys on the table and ran through the house into the front room. Tipping my music bag onto the floor, I searched frantically through the papers for the yellow funeral service booklet, the one that Leonard had written his phone number on when we first met.
And there it was. Thank God, I hadn’t thrown it away.
A Service of Remembrance for Luke James Bethany.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst the music books strewn across the room, I thumbed through the booklet searching for photographs or poems, readings, anything related to the deceased. Aside from the words to Amazing Grace and All Things Bright and Beautiful, it was a bare service sheet. I began to desperately think. What was Luke’s surname? Did Leonard ever mention it?

I have experienced the early stages of insanity sitting on the floor of my front room this afternoon. I’m clutching the service sheet as if it is the centre of my world, crying incessantly and reading it over and over and over and though it contains the meaning of life hidden in small print, naked to the human eye. On the one hand I feel very deceived. The feeling of confusion and emotional desolation is similar, I expect, to the experience of discovering that a close friend, neighbour or even family member has committed a murder or some other serious crime. It is an immediate suspicion of everyone dear to me and a terrible feeling that everything and everyone that I hold as true is laughing behind my back. But there is also a sickening sense of disgust, repulsion and disbelief that fills me each time I wonder whether my suspicions are right. Even though I know that they can't possibly be, I cannot believe that I am seriously considering the possibility. It feels as though I am sat here beside myself, looking at my physical body and worrying about the madness that is growing inside me. The thought that I am losing my mind causes me to cry the hardest.

After all, what kind of sick, mental state do I find myself in when I question whether I have known a man for almost twelve months after attending his funeral?

The homecoming

2009-10-25T21:49:00.003Z

I was woken around 7am on Saturday morning by the noise of the traffic outside and the clatter of Amber preparing breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. It was my last night in Amber’s spare room and I was extremely tired as I had been awake for most of the night worrying about returning home (I think that I finally managed to fall asleep just after 3am). It was still dark outside and I could see very little in the room, but the brief second between waking and sleeping was extended enough for me to realise that I was not alone in my bed. I could feel a weight beside me and the eyes of someone watching me. At first I thought that Amber had come to check on me, but as I opened my eyes and focused, I realised that it was not Amber beside me. Instead there was a strange figure lying by my side. It was recognisably human and definitely male, but it had no facial features or hair and its entire face and body was smooth and white as snow. It lay on my right side, slightly bent over me and supporting itself on its left arm which appeared to be underneath me so that my head was resting on it. But I could not feel the arm beneath my head. When I tried to move I quickly realised that I was frozen to the bed in my usual cathartic state, but I was not alarmed. On the contrary I felt safe and secure, cradled in its arms. But when I began to sense the presence of someone familiar, the recognition of the figure made me sick to my stomach. As I came to my senses and my body was released from its frozen state, I shot upright in bed and called out ‘Daniel, Daniel’, but the vision had gone. Of all the terrible creatures that I have encountered, this was the most reassuring experience of my life and even now, as I recall the encounter, I am filled with a comforting warmth.

Unsurprisingly, Alex had left when Amber and I returned to the house. His wardrobe was empty and his bags had gone. And I don't blame him. I expect that he is as scared and confused as I am. But there was something much more upsetting awaiting my arrival. Behind the door there was a large envelope. It had been hand delivered as there was no address and the writing on the front simply read ’To my dear muse'. It was Leonard. Ripping open the envelope I was both relieved and horrified to see the corner of my notebook. Without doubt, he had read it. When I took out the notebook and opened it, I noticed that he had written one simple word in the margin of the first page:

The sick feeling that I have carried with me since making this discovery is akin to the guilty feeling of being caught cheating on a lover. It is a bitter sense of disappointment in myself and a dread that Leonard will chastise me terribly for going against everything that he has taught me, but it is also a yearning for him to contact me and give his approval for my research. I need to speak to him, but I am afraid.

Last night I put my clocks back an hour for daylight saving time and as I wound the clock in the front room I felt as though I was stepping backwards in time unnaturally. It was a strange sensation and one that I do not recall experiencing before. As I watched the minutes unwind it honestly felt as though I was artificially erasing the time and, more specifically, I was erasing my past. The full hour felt like a full year. And yet when I reflect on this weekend’s events it feels as though time has stood still and the world is waiting for me to act before it can progress to the next hour, the next minute, the next second. The sense of anticipation is unbearable, but I do not know what I am expected to do.

E’re I prove false to faith, or strange to you

2009-10-23T16:17:00.003+01:00

It was getting too late to visit Leonard that afternoon and I was still feeling a little nauseous, so I caught the bus straight back home. When I finally arrived at the house I found Alex packing his bags. This was not entirely unexpected and as I stood in the bedroom door watching him throw his clothes and belongings carelessly into his rucksack, I was possessed by a liberating feeling of indifference. I realised that I no longer wanted to fight to keep us together. I really didn't care.

“I’ll need your keys if you’re leaving”
Alex stopped emptying the drawers and looked up at me. Maybe it was the tone of my voice or the look of apathy on my face, but he seemed a little shocked.
He zipped up his bag and answered sharply “Babe, I’m not in the mood for an argument..."
“Who’s arguing?” I countered.
“I can see it in your face…”
“You just don’t understand, do you?”
“Don’t even try and make excuses” he replied as he tossed his keys at me.
“Then don’t be such a fucking idiot”. There it was again, an uncharacteristic lack of control over myself. I had never felt so deliberately, even childishly, provocative and self-confident in my entire life. Hearing my comment, he stood up instantly with his fists gripped either side of him and we came toe to toe, staring threateningly into one another’s eyes.
“I’m sorry…what?” he asked.
“I said…don’t be such a fucking idiot”. Only this time I said it with a grin. He raised his right hand and seeing this I calmly added: “Alex, you hit me…”

As I stared deep into his eyes I felt my stomach begin to churn uncomfortably. This wasn’t anything new as dominance and fear features quite heavily in our relationship, but this felt different. It was a sense of internal evolution, an uncontrollable heat and a swell of aggression similar to the sensations that I felt during my encounters with Luke. Only this time it was much more intense and Luke was not there to quell it. Before I knew it, the fire had consumed me and I could feel my anger rising. How dare Alex talk to me like this. How DARE he speak to me. HOW DARE HE. Filthy, pathetic creature...don't you know what I am?!? I was not entirely aware of the combination of words and images that whipped through my mind and came spilling out of my mouth. Many of the visions I recognised as the diagrams and words in the Omega Course, but they were interspersed with glimpses of my many afternoons with Leonard and my experience in the church earlier that afternoon. The intense emotions welled up inside until there was no conceivable outlet and then I felt the energy leave me in a whoosh...

Alex screamed and recoiled violently to the side as though something or someone had hit him hard across the face. I too screamed aloud in shock and cried out his name as he started to gasp loudly for air and staggered across the room, falling face down on the bed and clutching at his chest. I watched in terror as he writhed in pain on the bed and I called his name repeatedly over and over from the corner of the room, but he seemed unable to answer me. And then he closed his eyes, his body relaxed and a calm expression fell over his face. I was shaking violently (and I shake even now when recalling the scene) but as I stepped towards the bed I was relieved to see that he had simply passed out and that he was still breathing. Nevertheless I broke down into sobbing tears, partly due to the sight of him passed out on the bed and partly because our aggressive confrontation had scared me. I grabbed my house keys from the table by the front door and ran out of the house. I needed to get away from everything, but didn't know where to go. To Leonard? To Luke? To Amber? As I ran the street towards the bus stop I knew that I needed to make a decision, and fast. But it was not just an escape that I needed; more importantly, I needed answers. I needed to know what was happening to me.

I decided to try Amber’s house first, so I sat on the bus constructing a story about why I had arrived unannounced and what had taken place at home. Alex and I were arguing and he tried to hit me, so I hit him back in defence. Simple as that. I would stay for a while at her house and return later when I was sure that Alex had gone. My heart was pounding and my eyes were watering, but as I replayed what had happened the tears of fear became tears of joy. Had I really done that to Alex? Or had someone, or something, else done it for me? Maybe I am much more powerful than I imagined. Maybe the gods did listen to me after all. Leonard, and Luke in particular, would be proud of me.

So here I am in the familiar surroundings of Amber’s spare room. I have spent many a hung-over morning recovering in this room following a drunken night out and it certainly feels more like home than my own home right now. This is my last night here as I have told Amber that I will return tomorrow to confront Alex (she insists that she will come with me, just in case...). I'm not sure what to expect, but I've had enough time to calm down and reflect on what exactly took place. It is a pity that this week has gone so quickly because I've had the best undisturbed sleep in months; there have been no fleeting visions, no uncomfortable sensations and no horrific visitors that I have grown so accustomed to at night-time. Finally I have found peace.