I've come to feel as if my therianthropy is both spiritual and psychological. This is my story, recently written. Feel free to ask questions and leave comments.
I was once a normal, happy, ignorant human child. Youth is shed painfully. Certainly in my case. My first hard lesson came at the age of nine. I tried to show care, concern, and love for a puppy. My mother scolded me and told me not to cry. She said that if I ever cried like that again, she would take that dog away from me. Those words crushed my soul. They killed any true happiness or love in me.
Why get attached to another being if showing any emotional connection to it will result in someone ripping it away from me? I would never have the ability to properly form attachments, make friends, or truly know love. Sure, I have a mate, but to this very day I sometimes question my feelings. I question their authenticity. Are they real? Are they true? I try not to question too much or think of it too often. But mimicry is a major tool for survival. Do I mimic the actions of one in a loving relationship? I don't have the answer.
Even if I can express emotions better after several years of healing, I'm still afraid that my attachments might not be healthy ones. But again, thinking too much only makes it worse.
I suffered depression for months after being told to bottle up my emotions. I suffer to this day. Next my humanity was slowly, agonizingly chipped away. The hell created by my parents went on for seven or eight long years. It continued long after they divorced. Every day of those years was filled with my parents fighting and arguing. I was surrounded by verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. During those years, I think my father asked me once if I was okay. Every night I thought of ending my life. My parents taught me, for the second time, that love did not exist. It was fake. Only anger, hate, distrust, and disappointment are true emotions.
I was broken. I did not allow myself to give in to any emotions. Except when they escaped in rare uncontrollable outbursts. Those outbursts drew too much attention and landed me in more trouble. So, I pushed emotions down deeper into darker corners of my mind. I had no relationships in high school. I trusted no one. I was as anxious and wary as a caged animal as I sat in classrooms. I was a tormented beast that wanted out of my own mind and body.
After one outburst, I was sent to the high school's councilor. I spoke with her three or four times. Then, my mother found out. My mother said that I had no right to talk to other people about her and my father's private problems and private lives. I also took it as being reprimanded again for having emotions and for seeking help with them because they were becoming darker and more destructive. I stopped visiting the councilor. To feel only brought me scorn.
How does a teenager survive all of this? How did I think of suicide every night and day for years and not attempt the the act? How did I wake up and walk through another day filled with depression, self-loathing, anger, and hate? I also had no relationships simply to protect anyone I thought I cared about. I kept them at a distance to protect them from the damning darkness that seethed inside of me. I was worthless. I knew I was incapable of caring or truly loving another person. Why even try? Love was a joke. My parents taught me well. Love did not exist.
Why didn't I give up, with nothing good to live for? Humans are animals. They have basic survival instincts. They just don't admit to being so base. I had nothing else. Without emotion and higher feelings, I became a beast.
That puppy which my mother had told me not to cry over had been a wolf-dog. By forcing us apart my mother brought us together in a way that she could never have imagined. By separating us, my mother actually made that wolf-dog my only reason to exist. Somewhere deep down inside my sick mind, I latched onto the idea that the wolf-dog was my pack and only true family. Even after his mysterious death at only two years of age, I felt as if he was the only one who had ever cared for me. He had been my brother and mentor. That wolf-dog taught me everything I know. A wolf-dog saved this wretched human and with his help, through hell's fire, this soul and mind have been forged into those of a wolf. A beast of survival.
Every day I thought about suicide was a day of perseverance. The wolf in me knew that the famine wouldn't last forever. Every day was just about blending in, acting as normal as possible so no one got suspicious and asked questions. I tried to hide the chaos inside. It was chaotic suppressing emotions while becoming less human and more wolf with each passing day. Again, I protected those around me from this chaos by keeping them at a distance, even pushing them coldly away. But I was surviving. My human brain struggled against the beast growing and taking over. Buy my spirit was beginning to shine through the darkness.
Here, I will throw in another facet of this experience and transformation. In the beginning, I had called myself a Christian. I feared God. I feared being damned and going to hell. It's what led me to hate myself. I was born a sinner. I thought I had read somewhere that children of divorced parents were damned and sent to hell. So, my life was hopeless. My soul was irredeemable. Why was I trying? Why not kill myself since I was damned anyway?
But wolf doesn't think that way. Wolf survives. Wolf does not need to be saved by anyone. I came to realize that there was no Jesus or God. No one was going to save me. Only I could help and save myself. If anyone is responsible for helping to save me, it was, of course, a wolf-dog. Discarding the concept that I was predestined to spend an eternity in hell for my parents' decisions started a reaction that has slowly dissolved a lot of pain. That also led to the wolf being a more free, confident, and powerful being.
The wolf within me was actually the light in the darkness. I saw my physical human form as ugly. I was not desirable. I was weak and sickly. Stress and depression ravage the body and can cause long-term health problems. Through the years, I went to several doctors. Each doctor gave a different diagnosis. Mononucleosis. Irritable bowel syndrome. I could be doubled over from the pain of ovarian cysts. I was anemic and had no energy. A weak wolf does not survive, but the wolf in me was strong and beautiful. I never turned to smoking, alcohol, or drugs during those challenging years of my life. The wolf within forced me to make healthier choices. I began to eat better food and exercise. I got stronger to survive. To this day, not being active enough and eating poorly causes IBS and cyst flare ups. But I manage them.
I still struggle with emotions. But wolves are emotional beings. Wolves are pack animals. They form bonds with others. I am still wary of other humans and don't really trust anyone. Other than my mate, I still don't have any friends. I still just go through my days trying to blend in and look normal. Being a wolf is what makes me a decent human being. Believe it or not, canines and other creatures have systems of morality and fairness. If not for becoming a wolf, the hateful person that I had been would have started to hurt herself and others on purpose.
Believe it or not, my mind is not so sick anymore. I said I still suffer from depression, but I attribute that to being human. I've never taken any medication for depression. I see it like the waves of the ocean. They come and go. Depression rises up and falls down on a regular basis. I'm learning to manage depression along with my other health problems. Being mindful is the key. I am much better off as a wolf that I ever was as only a human. I hated myself enough over the years. I don't hate myself now. I am content with being this beast. This wolf is content with being a survivor instead of a suicide.
Addition:
My parents actually have a good friendship after being divorced for a few years, and I have a fairly good relationship with them.
Wolf Daughter
December 12, 2015
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