About Me — Adrian Cleary
── 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 ──
I’m lost. The map is too expensive.
Turns out you can lose your way standing still.
My cracked path wore me down until I learned to let hardship pass through me. That lesson began a long time ago.
In the hall by the doorway, I watched Mami sit at the window, careful to approach. Mami — my grandmother — raised me from the start. She used to space out and watch the squirrels skip around, the people walk their dogs, and the children play mean games.
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) made her touchy and explosive, so I grew up observant. I caught her in secret guilt after she made me cry. To make it better, all I had to do was tell her everything was fine.
By eight, I no longer smiled quite so honestly. Instead of being myself, I turned into air.
Like Persephone in hell I vowed never to flinch no matter what happened next. I rose above reality, and in my own way, I joined the flock.
The hungry absence filled up with questions. I chased esoteric truths to tell me I’m special and curated all the right opinions to tell me I’m sane.
Behind the comfortable veil of false clarity lay the revelation.
The sky will not answer. No one will save me. I am free-falling with no promise of safe landing.
When there is nothing else left, that is the most terrible freedom of all.
Fear says I will shatter. Fear tells me all the king’s horses — all the king’s men — even they won’t be able to fix it. Terror affirms me. Otherwise, there was never any reason for any of it.
I won’t write about Persephone. Who I am was the only answer ever worth asking, and who I become is what matters now because what I do next will be the first thing that has ever truly belonged to me.
I can’t wait to finally start.
Vamos a ver!
─── 𝙿𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍𝚜 & 𝙾𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 ───
I’m from Brooklyn, NY.
Not the money-money kind of Brooklyn, the building with no heat and roaches kind of Brooklyn — the dudes on the corner drinking Colt-45 kind of Brooklyn.
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Summer nights in the 90s meant reggae dancehall anthems booming through the peeling walls. That damned noise at 3 am morphed into a hardwired taste for heavy basslines and unpolished dubplates. I’m a massive junglist. I can appreciate all kinds of music.
My upbringing was strict and controlled.
Being trapped indoors left me with little to do but watch too much TV. I’m pretty sure Scooby-Doo reruns drove me insane. Now, I don’t have it in me to pass up a well-thought-out critique on the impact of media in society. I was lucky enough to catch an airing of Ways of Seeing by John Berger on PBS, which opened my eyes.
My interests broadly include Art, History, Religion, & Philosophy.
Much of my childhood was spent inside a paracosm — a detailed, imaginary world that plays by its own rules. This was a secret kept close to my chest. I figured dissociating into another reality must mean I’m insane until I came across Maladaptive Daydreaming. To my surprise I wasn’t alone.
Falling into my own mind led to a natural interest in Metaphysics & Consciousness. Ontology? Cosmology? Epistemology? That stuff is basically a playground for my overactive imagination.
After Mami died in 2014, I forced myself to clear the apartment. I found a mysterious folder labeled with a marker — Magia Blanca.
White Magic? Not too surprising…
White Magic: Practices To Attract The Light of Angels into Your Life. I also found a Spanish translation of The Book of Enoch.
Stories of paranormal encounters were an everyday part of my childhood. I never believed a word of it. Still, stories of unexplainable noises in empty rooms are so much fun. Who doesn’t like Ghost Adventures?
Seems like it’s in my blood because I found my way to Witchcraft too. I started from a place of healthy skepticism and wound up a true believer in the latent powers of the mind.
Sometimes, I experience Extra-Sensory Perception. Mainly clairaudience, but I also receive visons. Or, maybe — psychosis and delusions. The fun part is that you get to decide.
I joined Medium because I want to pursue writing, share my faucet of thoughts, and connect with others. It’s time my voice becomes part of the equation.
My uniqueness scared me, so I tried to be special.
Way deep down, everyone is like me. Only human. Flying away from what’s real in a million different disguises.
There is nothing scarier than vulnerability met with deafening silence.
Stand in it. Don’t look away.
A. Cleary
