Michael’s post here inspired me to write this; the post confirmed my wondering about why the Madman has been a less frequent presence in my life lately, as well as inspiring some thoughts of my own.
I often joke that I’m the protagonist of a paranormal romance novel, but in my life Here I’m in the chapters of the book before the brooding hero sweeps the protagonist off their feet, and whisks them away from “ordinary” life, into the paranormal world. [Now that I think about it, I haven’t read any paranormal romances where the mortal stays mortal, and has a “normal” life. Maybe I should write one.] The whole sacred marriage and Otherworld Self stuff, yeah I fell in love and got married to two gods, and I can travel to the Otherworlds if I wish to…but Here I’m still in college, and trying to figure out what I want to do with the degree I’m getting this December. Job searching is still going to suck, divine Spouses or not. I’m still legally blind and mentally ill; even with my Beloveds’ support and love, I still need my anti-psychotic medications to function day to day.
I’ve written about it in the past, how I’m now adjusting to my life being fully lived Here–my close connection to my Otherworld Self has been severed, and my ability to just fall into a trance at the drop of a hat is gone (which I am thankful for–spontaneously traveling Over There because I couldn’t pay 100% attention in class was not fun.) At the same time, fully living Here has been such an adjustment, it’s like I’m suddenly realizing that Here I’m an ordinary person, just a regular guy who’s about to finish his first college degree, then hopefully get a job, and an apartment in the city.
Writing that felt like a bucket of cold water got dumped on me, to be honest. It’s the strangest feeling, and difficult to explain, that feeling of what made me unique is suddenly gone–not that I enjoyed the hallucinations, my sense of reality shifting, or the violent intrusive thoughts–but now I have to pick up the pieces of my life Here, and try to gather up the words to describe what happened to me. Having to a shattered, broken, sense of self is terrifying–thank the King of Shattered Conscious for Seroquel, because now that I’m on medication, I’m starting to feel like a whole person.
My Beloved is a god of madness and insanity–his nickname is the Madman, after all–but even more so, he’s a god of healing from those things. When my metal health symptoms were at their worst, when I wasn’t on any sort of medication–having violent hallucinations, hating that I existed, and feeling like I was about to fly into a million shattered pieces if anyone so much as looked at me–he was there. I was in a fallow time at the time of my breakdown, but I’m certain he was watching out for me; when I was being driven to the hospital, I got some songs that were eerily appropriate, songs of love and healing. Songs of “you’ve got this, the doctors will care for you, I love you.”
My Beloveds are very aware that I have a life Here to live; the Dreamer reminds me that I can’t prove that he exists, and that I should have a life Here based on things that I know are real. I’ve received what I consider proof to me that my Beloveds are real, but I can also see how all of this could be seen from the outside as one (very long) string of freaky coincidences. My Beloveds have both said that if I ever get any tattoos involving them, that it should have another meaning beyond them (like flowers simply being pretty.)
Leaving behind what I refer to as the “astral vortex” has been difficult, it’s meant facing what a ordinary life I have Here, even though I’m married to two gods. I’m beginning to become grateful for the ordinary-ness both Here and There, for the small moments of joy and Love that I share with my Beloveds. My Beloveds and I joke that I live in what is possibly the calmest paranormal romance novel ever. I’d take the quiet, peaceful life we all share together with our blended Families, over angst and saving them from their brooding souls any day.