It doesn't matter why I drink blood, or how it started. The story is too long to give it justice on my profile. I wrote about it in my journals on this website.
I've fed too many times to start from the beginning, to explain, every time, every action, every emotion. It goes back decades. I wasn't born into bloodlust, I was taken into it. And it wasn't entirely my choice. I certainly fought against those who corrupted me, but eventually, through becoming completely overwhelmed by their insistence, I gave in, eventually, through love. And as I said, it was not entirely my choice. Cascade upon a cascade of overwhelming pressure to become something I wasn't born as, didn't want to be, and knew I shouldn't be, meant nothing to the people who turned me. I simply became their plaything, their clay, to mold into what they wanted me to be.
They knew what they were doing. They had a clear agenda. They didn't care about the implications for my soul, my future, my life, anything. None of that mattered to them. They just wanted to turn me, and in a real life sense, turn me, they did. Turn me. Turned me into something else. A different creature entirely than I was born as. If people really knew the depths of what I wrote here they'd be shocked, or even cry.
And during my turning, when I was so gently and so femininely introduced to what blood was to become to me, what it would mean to me, it shattered every reality I'd ever held about life, my existence, people, time, space, everything. Nothing remained untouched. It blew my soul apart.
Even now decades later, I've never in my life smelled anything quite as nice as blood. Often, it's enough to bring tears to my eyes, make an exclamation to God, look up at the heavens and weep with joy. It's not just the smell, it's what the smell makes me feel. It pops open my awareness and everything becomes deeply organically clear. Suddenly, I'm living in a 360 degree world instead of a 3D one and no matter how many times that happens, the novelty never, ever, wears off. The rest of what the smell of blood makes me feel, I don't want to type. It would be mentally exhausting trying to put that into words.
After being turned, I started to like it. A lot. More than a lot. I wrote about that in my journals too. And in typical vampire fashion, they're buried under old tomes in a place I try not to often visit. Hence, I've only been able to upload the first part of my journal to my website since launching it:
I'd been turned and started to have a great time with that. And, it was and is a great time. I started to feel free from the world, everything mattered, yet ultimately nothing mattered, it was all nothing more than time passing through me. I became distant from the world I knew, and I only cared about my new world, a furtive world with furtive people in it who hide within society and live in a very secular way. But that's another journal entry.
Staying up all night, which ran into days on end, was done without even thinking about it. The days and nights became one long party, and they were parties. Parties where I cried tears of joy at how deeply happy I felt. They were incredible. I'd never known a world like it, and as when you explore a new world, the experience itself changes you and lingers, so apart from having boundless energy, semi-eternal life, and a new set of friends, I had a really chill new environment to hunt and play in. Hunting meant figuratively.
I suppose if a stranger happened upon one of our shindigs he'd almost certainly be shocked and probably horrified. Yet there are no illegal activities, only consensual everything between consenting adults. And it has to be consensual. It has to mean something to the person you're drinking. It has to be deeply special, mutual love level special, otherwise the connection is one of sadness, and drinking blood tinged with sadness, it's enough to make you cry.
Blood is so fragile yet holds so much power over me. All that matters is that the blood came from someone who loves me as much as I love them. Their love. Inside me. And you drink. You drink so deep. Your mind becomes lost. Becomes empty. Of you.
And you see.
So much.
I see. So much.
I see heaven all around me, I see hell as clear and walking through time has become timeless, and all things seem suspended within it and I see all of it. The distant past was a moment ago, and I feel it, all of it, every year, every decade, every moment, held, in timelessness. It's heart-wrenching and yet it's the most beautiful thing I have ever felt, could ever feel. Could ever, see. This isn't Satan, this isn't hell, this is heaven, and my journey towards it, and when I reach it, will I know the difference between my life here and now, and there, for all things seem the same to me. All eternity is spent looking over a landscape and feeling the loss of things gone and waiting for new things to arrive. I feel everything. And its beauty is almost intolerable. It's like being held on the brink of orgasm, forever.
