In a world where none of man's laws, rules, or inhibitions apply, why then do we change and waver as easily as they do?
I had no desire to become a God, but I was never given the choice. When you get to play a part and make choices in everything which affects the world... you wouldn't believe that you get no say whatsoever in your own destiny. But that's water under the bridge now; I lost my desire to complain about immortality when my wife died. Maybe it was because I knew I could hardly stand to live with HER forever. When our lust waned, I was left wondering what else was holding us together. Not much, evidently; especially not her endless nagging.
Like me, she'd been converted from human to God. In fact it was she who caused me to make the switch from human to deity. She probably didn't want to watch me grow old and die. What followed proved to reveal the opposite, though. Who knew Gods could, or could even have wanted to commit suicide? Apparently, if one was truly that depressed and rid of hope, they could throw away their life as literally as they had figuratively. In other words, if we wanted to bleed desperately enough, we would bleed.
Now, when I say she committed suicide, I use 'suicide' loosely. Sure, she plunged the knife into her own chest, but there were two Gods who'd driven her to do it; one intentionally, the other much less so. I was the latter.
I had loved her at one point; for what other reason would we have married? But as time passed on, we lost our passion, she grew needier, and she nagged more and... I mustn't ramble on. In my situation, I needed her for security and practicality. As much as I now resent it and wish it had been otherwise, she was rich. We still had to live on Earth like the humans, and so I now try to see humour in the fact that Gods still needed to pay taxes. (Only two things in life are guaranteed, right? Death and taxes. Well when you have the choice to be immortal, that turns straight into angst and taxes, let me tell you.)
Veering the derailed train back on topic: the other man who played a role in my wife's death liked to call himself Hades. It could have been for the ego boost or for the pure fact that he was the closest thing to the devil that existed—in our world or the humans'. He had all the charm and morbidity of the Greek God Hades, but all of the sadism and iniquity of the Christians' take on Satan. He was also a God, and, he loved me. At first I was shocked that he could even feel the emotion. I grew, however, to accept that even Gods as experienced as he were incapable of controlling or explaining parts of their identity. In this case, that meant the workings of his heart.
Once his eyes were on me, I had no chance of evading him, even being married at the time. Because of a similar lone wolf attitude, Hades knew me better than my wife ever did. It was thus him who made it so clear to my wife that she'd lost me long ago. Like that, he stole away her everything. He stood there, and probably even handed her the knife I'd later found protruding from her heart like a sparkler in a birthday cake. Supposedly: he did this all for my benefit.
I wasn't gay, but I was attracted to the God—the animalistic beast—who Hades was. His teeth were sharpened into daggers, and his eyes were as distant, aggressive and cold as those of a lone wolf. These weren't the traits which attracted me so much, though, but instead it was the unbridled dominance he commanded.
As it were in my life, I'd always had to be the Alpha male. Through some luck of the draw, it was the weak and emotionally unstable who'd always been drawn towards me. I'd automatically taken the dominant role, but deep down I was praying that one day, one person—anyone—would challenge me and quit being so submissive. Hades had finally done that. Somehow, something I did made him want to welcome me into his pack. The only logical explanation I can come up with includes me posing as an amusing challenge for him. After all, I was stubborn... and oh, right, he'd just helped in the death of my wife, for God's sake.
For some time after my wife's suicide he had to keep me imprisoned in his own personally constructed Hell. He refused to leave my side, would continue to tell me that I needed him—that I loved him, too—and I continued to deny it. The only time I would have had to mourn, Hades was there trying to comfort me (yes, over the death he and I caused). Yet this unwanted support and incessant loyalty, in his own twisted and irrational way, was successfully making me feel like I was part of his pack. Of course, when some time passed he was able to give me some space and privacy; I was no longer eager to run away. He'd forced me to roll over into the submissive position and in doing so, I felt like the weight of the world had been eased from my shoulders. (It hadn't; we still had to guide the people of the planet Earth, but at least now it could be done in tandem and I could respect the one I worked alongside.) Our affection wasn't so much fleetingly physical as it was a distorted, strong emotional attachment to each other.
When I think back to this, our beginning, 400 years ago today, I can't help but revel in the realization of just how much my identity was changed. I went from one extreme to the other; from desperately desiring my independence but needing financial security, to needing my independence because it would have been safer yet desiring the pack-mentality of being Hades'. No one's identity is secure; it's even likely to change, especially when you can live forever. A sane balance between independence and security isn't even necessary, because I know I went from being melancholy to feeling content, and all because of the aggressive Hades. In a masochistic, almost Stockholm syndrome type way, I was even more content when he did show some of that aggression towards me: a surprise punch wasn't uncommon. I knew it was just how he expressed that I belonged there, like a wolf greeting his mate with a bite on the nose.