#thewolfbites

Novelty...

When we are young and just stumbling upon the terms that describe us, there are all these pent-up feelings that start bursting at the seams, screaming "yes, that's me!", "hi, I'm here!" so loudly we barely hear anything else around us. These feelings we never had the words for before suddenly have a name and we can finally focus our attention on trying to explain them rather than just bottling them up. Where once we felt isolated, we find other people in the world who feel the same, we find our community. The intensity in this liberation is astounding. Every single shift we had ever pushed down within ourselves comes rushing to the surface in an attempt to make sense of it all and we feel this immense weight lifted when we talk about them because for once we have a place that accepts that they are real and okay to have.

But many of us older alterhumans know far too well that the novelty of our experiences and identities does unfortunately wear off when we reach a certain point in our adulthood. While this point is not linear or at any exact age, something that happens to a lot of us is that we catch up with all of those backlogged experiences, we realize that these things are simply just.. normal.. for us, more so uneventful in the grand scheme of things, that there isn't much to talk about anymore. Time and time again, we see older alterhumans become less active in online spaces throughout the years. Our two sentence posts spaced only hours apart become a full article with days, weeks, even months between them. Whether because we have begun to hide our nonhuman selves away in the depths of our adulthood, or we simply hold ourselves to a higher standard than before, those five second shifts don't seem as impactful or interesting enough to mention much at this point.

Conservation of Language...

I have been spending the equivalent of at least a few months in hours reading the old writings of those who have helped shape both the otherkin and therian communities, and yet I have barely scratched the surface of the information available online. One topic within these writings that has presently consumed my attention is the development of language.

Across multiple platforms, there has been held a debate about the terms we use in the communities and their expansion to be more inclusive; a debate which isn't exactly black or white. As I gain a better understanding of the views of the community, I have gathered that there are some beings who are adamantly opposed to new terms, developing existing definitions and reconstructing out language. There are those who actively push for it, sometimes even coining their own terms. And there are those who are neutral, not caring one way or the other, or have the opinion that both things can be good. Each of these sides has their own reasoning for their views, none of which are inherently wrong. All this to say... I, myself, am undergoing a period of introspection regarding my own perspective, so I thought I'd share that here.

I am currently of the opinion that expanding language to a certain degree, and with caution, is more beneficial to the overall alterhuman community. I acknowledge that people have essentially hijacked existing terms and misconstrued them in order to broaden or completely alter definitions without the consent of the community the words belong to. The destruction of the community's reputation and representation because our words are being turned into something they aren't is absolutely maddening, I can agree. I see an overwhelming reluctance to examine one's own experiences in depth, causing doubt that existing terms explain them, and that the desire to be included, to feel special and unique is not uncommon, leading people to fabricate experiences so that they may find acceptance in communities they otherwise would not fit into. I believe that creating terms to include more people can cause harm, making it easier to begin explaining even the most mundane experiences as different and fantastical, yet also know that sometimes there are experiences so complex that no amount of questioning can simply them. That sometimes, people may feel they have to slide existing terms onto themselves like a hand-me-down coat because it's the closest they can come to explaining their experiences without having to coin a new term; a feeling of bittersweet comfort in discussing your experiences with those who may not even understand but there is nowhere else you can talk about them. This is what it means to not be otherkin, for example, but use otherkin language to feel like you have some place in this vast world to feel you can be open and honest about how you feel. Because, let's face it, existing outside of your community because you don't have any words that describe you accurately can be incredibly frustrating.

So with all of this in mind, do we progress our language so that we may define ourselves more precisely when we speak to one another? Or would it ultimately be better to conserve the language we already have, restoring the feeling of experience over labels some say the community had in the beginning? When we weigh all of these things against each other, there really is no conclusive answer for many of us. Sometimes, it's more a matter of balance.

When I think of how current established vocabulary can explain some of my own experiences, and how it can help me find others I can relate to, it is often in a way that feels compromising to parts of myself. I don't necessarily want more terms to describe every small variation of experience, especially when some definitions are purposely vague, I still want there to be questioning, introspection and a healthy amount of doubt. But at the same time, I think strict limitation on how and what to label personal internal happenings can also be pretty discouraging.

Werewolf Playlist...

Doing something a bit different by making a playlist post of some songs that make me shifty.

x | x

Nonhuman Nuance on Gender...

I have never been a consumable presence in this world. Everything about me has always been this labyrinthine ocean that refuses to be domesticated. There are parts of my identity that I've been able to recognize with familiarity from childhood that some people don't even notice until adulthood. Gender, the expression of one's own, and the standards of humanity as a species are things I've thought about since I was as young as three or four years old because nothing about my assigned sex or species has ever felt reflective of who and what I really am. The expectation of behavior for both humans and girls are much different than those for wolves and boys, and I realized very early on that people were expecting things of me that were, in my mind, simply unnatural and foreign.

When I got older and started really thinking about the implications of these feelings, being both transgender and a Were. And I didn't initially connect the two together the way I do now. It took a bit of time to realize that my gender is intrinsically linked to my nonhumanity. Sure, there are times I feel like a human man, but I'm also never a "normal" human man... both my nonhumanity and neurodivergence making certain of that. There is a disconnect between me and other human men that I can not explain away with being transgender.. It is more than that.

Wolves do not display obvious sexual dimorphism, if you went to the zoo and saw the wolves, you would not be able to distinguish the males from the females with a quick glance. Their social behaviors are also not typically structured by gender, male wolves can be just as nurturing and submissive as females. In these ways, among others, I relate my gender more to wolves than humans. No matter how close to human I feel, there are always these subtle nonhuman nuances to everything about me. My body language, my fashion sense, my interests, the way I interact verbally.. even the way I process information. It's all wolven. I talk about this a little in another post, but I've realized that this connects to my gender as well.

Rejecting Labels, Redefining Alterhumanity, and Redirecting My Focus...

Most often, the thought and topic of alterhumanity centers around its definition as an umbrella term, despite knowing that it is also much more than that. Alterhumanity can and does transcend all of the communities it covers under it. As a separate term, it describes phenomena beyond and including those like otherkinity, otherheartness, plurality, linking, transhumanism, daemonism, etc. Identifying as alterhuman can mean many things, the context in which someone is alterhuman is vague unless specified, so why do we assume, or rather associate, alterhumans with being part of the umbrella? When and how did this divergence from its complete definition happen?

The way I've approached my own alterhumanity has been flawed for many years; and I talk about this more in my last post (Experiences Fading After Labeling) as well as in other posts I've written. To put it simply, I have concerned myself more with labels than actually living with my experiences. Experiencing something means I have to label it, a compulsion I seem to have no control over. I am a very complex person - at least to myself - and I find that I am more of a collection of undiscovered galaxies than a series of molecules that can be studied under a microscope. For me, the process of labeling has always involved bending over backwards, exhausting myself and all resources I can find, bleeding, sweating, crying, compromising certain details of myself, and nearly drowning in the effort. I have been contemplating whether it's all actually worth the result anymore. Or even if it ever was. When I really think about why I feel like labels are so important to me, I can only come up with four reasons:

First, my brain is an utter disaster and labels help me organize the mess. When everything is being whipped around in a tornado, labels give the debris a place to land so I can analyze, attend to and hold onto it better. It's a comfort to know I can find what I need to in its proper place and not have to dig around in a heap of clutter and chaos.

Second, I have a hard time communicating. Articulating how I feel and what I mean to other people takes a lot longer for me to accomplish, and most - if not all - of the time, I am still not satisfied with how I've presented what I've written or said. Writing is a lot easier because I have more time to think and revise my words, but I still struggle to focus and keep my thoughts in order. Labels are helpful when words fail me and my thoughts are too jumbled to express.

Third, uncertainty is extremely scary for me. I think this is a purely psychological thing and stems from my trauma and mental illnesses. There is something threatening in the unknown. Something uncomfortable about confusion. When I feel a lack of control, my anxiety spikes, I feel like I'm in fight or flight; like being in a Halloween horror house. Labels are answers and they bring some relief to the constant state of suspense I'm in.

And lastly, for whatever reason, and maybe like my last point, I feel like I have something to prove. In a community that is very label-centric, talking about your experiences without the use of labels typically results in comments that try to force a label onto them. Which I think ultimately comes from the belief that labeling things and knowing community language equates to being an older, more knowledgeable and prominent member in the community. So when I label things, it's a way to say, "look, see, I know this word, I know it applies to me because I did my research and I spent a lot of time introspecting, I am valid now, I can prove it", even though I know how absolutely unnecessary that is.

Only the first two things could ever possibly be worth all the stress I've self induced. Realizing that I smother and suffocate my experiences with labels simply because to do otherwise is scary and makes me seem like a lesser member of the communities is absurd to me. No one said the journey would be easy, but I am not fully aware that I have made it harder for myself. Which is why I have made the decision to reject labels almost entirely and redirect my focus on redefining what alterhumanity means to me.

My personal alterhumanity is ambiguous; it can be defined both by the terms under its umbrella and as an identity of its own. I have simply only ever fixed my attention on the ways I can define it under the umbrella. Since first awakening, I have used many terms to describe myself: therian, otherkin, otherhearted, daemian, furry, just to name a few. They have held, and still do hold, a special place in my heart because of the things I have learned from them and the people I have met through them. They brought me closure and reassurance, comfort and support through community. But as I get older, observing more and more the negative affect that the labeling process has had on me, I feel myself being pulled further and further away from them. I'm starting to understand that while I fit the definitions of these terms, they are truly not worth the damage I inflict upon myself during the labeling process.

The state of my alterhumanity does not allow for me to continue on the path I've been on. It requires gentle hands to set it free from the cage I've locked it in, for it has become withered and fragile with the beatings it's taken, the beatings I gave it. I have spent years refusing to let it grow, to let it become exactly what it is, and because of that I have suffered for it. I know I am alterhuman. I know that there are parts of me that are animal and that defy humanity. I know that I do not connect with humans on the same level as I do with animals and I know that trying to call myself 100% human feels untrue. It does not embody the whole of me. The feelings surrounding my humanity are not shared by other humans, and if given the choice, I would willingly strip away everything that makes me human. The experiences I have are not understood or accepted by humans; they see them as strange, delusional, a cry for attention. I feel dysphoria with the species of my body. Having the shape of a human is useful for some of the things I enjoy, but being stuck in a body that feels less like your own and more like one you're renting isn't how I would have wanted to live this life.

Experiences Fading After Labeling...

Have you ever been so consumed by an experience that labeling it seemed of the utmost importance? To finally understand it and be able to quell the confusion it may bring feels like the ultimate endgame. You spend days, weeks, months, years even with a spyglass glued to your eye, searching for the one flicker of hope in the vast sea of possibilities. There seems no end in sight, it's hopeless, you just can't cover that much ocean in any lifetime.

Then one day, the winds are in your favor and they said you directly toward your answers. An island in the middle of nowhere with the word you've been looking for carved into the sands. Big letters that spell out everything you feel exactly and a sense of total peace washes over you. You're settling into the island, you've built your home, you've started growing your food, you've established your life there. You're living the life you've been dreaming of when a huge storm hits and rips the experience that started this whole voyage in the first place right out of you. The lightning strikes your heart, the rain batters your skin, the wind whips you in circles so you can no longer see yourself straight, and just as suddenly as it came, it leaves, taking your experiences with it. The ocean has washed away the words carved in the sand, and you feel lost on an island that no longer belongs to you. A huge piece of you is missing, never to return again, stolen from you by the storm. It's almost as if the island is cursed, the word it showed you killed the experience inside of you. While your endgame was comprehension, the islands was destruction.

This is one of the ways labels can be damaging to some people.

I have felt this loss many times before, though the reason still eludes me. I believe I've mentioned in previous posts that I am someone who feels an enormous amount of discomfort with being uncertain, so I am constantly looking for labels and explanations; to my own detriment. While I find solace in having labels for myself, the process and consequence far outweighs that. When I start to experience something, I analyze and question it with almost laser focus. Sometimes these experiences are so intense that it feels like the only part of me at the time and I have to pull myself back into the reality that I am not physically that creature. They can influence my self-image, my identity, my behavior, etc. to the point where I feel forced to try to find a label that articulates to others what I feel. And usually, I can always find one. But that's when my mind goes "endgame" and something in me flips like a switch. That experience just doesn't exist anymore. Or it does but it's faded so much that it's barely a thought anymore. The shifts aren't as strong, the self-image morphs into the next thing I'll be on the voyage to labeling. All because I labeled something I felt with everything in my being.

I've always chalked this up to being because when you're trying to label something, you think about it more frequently, trying to uncover every detail of it. And this absolutely could be, but I'm starting to think it's more than that. I put a lot of stock into labels. Again, I don't like to be confused or without clear definitions. Labels help me stay organized. Yet they are both really important and also harmful to my overall mental health. Because of this concern with labels, I often tend to forget about experiencing the experience. Instead of thinking to myself, "I feel wings in my shoulder blades, they are heavy and large and resemble those stereotypically associated with angels, they can wrap around me and feel welcoming, safe and warm", I think "I am having an angel wing phantom shift, I wonder what that means". It isn't so much about the feelings for me as it is about explaining them. Realizing this has made me very upset with myself. I'm simply too analytical of my internal happenings. I want to be able to live with my experiences, but I think my brain is just wired so that my only concern is "why is this happening, what does it mean, how can I label it?"

On the other paw, there is also a piece of me that does like that I question things, rather than jump to the first conclusions my mind makes. But for the most part it's infuriating because it's not just self-doubt or introspection or even questioning, really. I am compelled to label everything. Simple things that to others would hold no true value. Important things that make up who I am as a person. Things that last for years, things that last only a few days, things that come and go throughout my life. Everything has to have a label. I honestly don't know why. I don't know if it's anxiety or trauma or just the way my brain works with no other real reason.

Shift Log...

01.24.2021 I was reading La Belle Sauvage by Philip Pullman and I think Philomena was getting a bit upset with me not being able to read and pay attention to her as a red squirrel at the same time because she decided to become a big cat, like a leopard, and lick her paws with her back to me. She'd been trying to get involved with my reading, putting her little squirrel paws on the pages and standing up to see the words, but I'm very easily distracted and made the mistake of ignoring her; pushing her presence into the back of my mind to focus on reading. She didn't like that very much so made it very clear that if I was going to ignore here, she was going to ignore me.

02.01.2021 The song STFD by TezaTalks caused a really intense Khanivore mental shift; the desire to be in the ring, fighting another monster, consuming my every thought. Having Khanivore shifts is always a pleasant surprise because they make me feel so... alive... So energized.. powerful.. Like I could destroy anything even when my human body is incredibly weak. There is a specific type of music I think triggers them but I'm not sure what to call it? Video game music? I also seem to associate purple neon lights with Khanivore, so anytime I look at aesthetics like synthwave or cyberpunk, I instantly think of her.

02.05.2021 The merfolk feels hit again and when they do I just can't help think to myself if I really am a merfolk therian (theriomythic) because of these strong, involuntary feelings. I can say I was a homocetacean, but I know that's not enough for a theriotype. My issue is that it is very much a current influence on my identity and how I perceive myself, but the words "I am" feel weird to say. I can only comfortably say "I was".

02.07.2021 Merfolk feels again, but this time I felt almost like I identified as one currently. The species dysphoria I feel around this experience is overwhelming. I physically ache when I realize I can never go back to the ocean and be a merperson again, at least in this life. My heart feels like it's being crushed and broken into a million pieces because, for some reason, I cannot let go of that life. I don't want to. It doesn't want me to. It's a part of me, even now. And I think that's what's most frustrating about having this intense, fundamental experience and not being able to say "this is me" because it essentially contradicts itself.

Daemon feels also decided to make an appearance today. I had mental shifts of being a daemon, of feeling the sickness and pain of being away from my human. I am still convinced of having a daemon past life, though I'm not sure if these experiences were caused by that or if they have a more present explanation.

I was laying in bed trying to sleep when I had a vision of myself as a red fox and Philomena as a monkey (looking like a crab-eating macaque, velvet monkey or squirrel monkey) touching the fox's (my) head. It made me very happy to see my daemon interacting with a version of me that wasn't human.

Spiritual Daemonism...

There is a wide variety of ways people seem to practice daemonism. Some see their daemons as a personality type like a Hogwarts House, some see them as a kind of imaginary friend, some even take a spiritual approach and believe that daemons are a representation of their own soul, similar to the way they are depicted in the His Dark Materials series.

I personally view my daemon, Philomena, as both a psychological and spiritual daemon; but not exactly in the way that might be more common in the community. I believe that as a child, my brain developed an "imaginary friend" to cope with many different traumas happening to me. Animals were already a huge part of my life, so it wasn't very hard for my little brain to latch onto an animal form when creating her. This was the start of Philomena in her infancy. But as time went on, my brain decided that pretending just wasn't enough anymore. The exact how eludes me, but a piece of my soul split off and Philomena as a separate but dependent and kindred soul developed silently in the background for years. As I started to acknowledge her, I realized that she was not only a representation of me in the ways I couldn't accept, but also a representation of what I needed in my life.