Amsterdam and the Devil

And now that I have introduced Amydien for the first time I should reveal that I believe he might have been the devil. The psychiatrists, of course, disagree with me on the matter, but how can one argue a cause when you haven’t been there? None of my psychiatrists has ever met Amydien, and thus, saying that I had imagined it, is highly pretentious on their part. How do they know whether magic isn’t real or that madness is simply a consequence of some misbalance in the brain? Well, they don’t. They can tell me whatever they want, I will still believe that Amydien was the devil.  We don’t know for sure what is really happening in this world, beyond and after, do we?

All signs were there: the unusual energy around him, the magical events which would happen when I was dating him, the fact that I became mad after I had met him. Am I totally positive that he was the devil? No, of course, I am not. I did sense that he was something different when I was dating him but at that time I didn’t go as far as suspect that not only there was the devil but that he also could so easily enter into and manipulate one’s life.

I realised who he was for definite only two years ago when I was walking in the park, feeling well and revising in my head some experiences from my psychoses. It was the first time that I analysed them in some comfort knowing that I was on quetiapine (an anti-psychotic medication) and that I was safe in terms of not losing it completely according to my ‘doctors’, and thus, I could think whatever I wanted. And so, I ended up discarding the entire psychiatry abracadabra and reaching the core of the matter, knowing what exactly had happened to me. The devil was there, right from the start, testing me on my ascendance to that job in Amsterdam and finally catching me in his grip, so that I finally see the other reality.

I remember that when I was around the age of three, I saw him for the first time. I was sleeping in the cot and woke up suddenly and his face was there, staring at me. He was looking at that time as he is usually depicted in the paintings or the Christian scary stories, as some sort of the last monster on earth, while in reality, of course, he is just an allegorical figure, creating some tricks and treats to see if we can distinguish the difference. I wasn’t frightened at that time, but more surprised, because my parents were telling me that all the disturbing stuff, I could see at night was simply a product of my imagination. Later, of course, the psychiatrists would sing the same song to me…to no avail.

But yes, at that moment his face took me by surprise. Seeing him in flesh and as totally real confirmed that what parents and adults were saying wasn’t necessary the truth. I was seeing him, and he even gave me a nod. Despite being only three I made a promise to myself not to forget that vision and always remind myself that strange things do happen in life and that magic is there.

And so, of course, the suspicions and even knowledge and precise proof were there before and even presented to me. But I was avoiding it, trying not to go into that territory, because well, I did know where it could lead me. Ending up in a psychiatric hospital is not a problem, the problem is to get out of there, because the decision lies with psychiatrists who don’t understand anything about madness as nice as some of them are. How can you understand it if you are not in the same reality? And how can one claim to understand madness in the first place? Michel Foucault, of course, is the best analyser of the phenomenon till this date. Instead of trying to get a glance of the human brain (something which psychologists and psychiatrists have been doing for ages without any success) he simply observed that madness is a social construction. In other words, I might be mad as far as the society is judging me, but in reality, I am probably saner than the rest of the world population. Just a thought…


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