Contradictions are what form who I am, as if the strength of the pull from opposing forces is what holds my body inside of my skin, allowing me to stand, walk, and breathe. It’s what makes me human. But, what if I wasn’t inhabiting this shell of a person, but rather, an animal? I can think of only one word:
Wolf. The undomesticated version of that poodle sitting in your lap that you’ve shaped into something you can love, while I remain untouched; purity fills in the distance between my eyes and the world I look in on. There is a separation. Not a wall, but more of a thin plastic film coating everything I see, from the water I drink to the front doors I walk past; from my own clothes, to the person sitting next to me. I can reach out and touch these things with my hand, my heart, my brain. I can touch them, but I cannot feel what is really there, what hides beneath the film. So I retreat and observe—I stick to the outside.
Outside. Outsider.
I am an outsider.
I look into the bathroom mirror. The plastic clinging to the glass fragments my face until, for the very first time, I can see my reflection:
Wolf. A wolf in a world full of humans that work and rest, that keep their eyes down and ears open, listening for their next command sent from the hierarchy, the patriarchy, shielded by conformity. Do as I say. Think as I say. Be as I say. With heads down, souls closed, they are blind.
Humans. One race, one face, they are sheep. Lead by corporate greed and mass media feeds, but I am the wolf. And I just don’t understand how society can let these lambs succumb to the suffocation of the flock, when outside…
You can
just
breathe.
It’s clear, really, beyond this plastic world with plastic thoughts and plastic voices. The crisp air is my only vice, and it is the script on which I write my story:
Wolves are introspective; they know who they are, and where they stand in their pack, or on their own. The lone wolf has become a human cliché for a reason: solitude is a highly underrated state, and an introvert’s nirvana. But also, we can be curious.
Loyal.
Intelligent.
All good qualities overshadowed by humanity’s unfair stereotypes branded into thick, grey fur. We’re misunderstood, judged because of existing preconceptions, and that means we don’t fit in with the jaundiced mainstream, but that’s quite fine.
We are not sheep.
In fact, we eat sheep.
Though, that’s beside the point, more of a superficial similarity. The deeper connections lie in our psychological make up. Remember how contradictions hold me together?
It’s like that for them, too:
They love living in packs, but want complete seclusion.
Curiosity pulls them towards humans, but getting too involved pushes them away.
They are overanalyzed, picked apart for their every meaning, yet still remain misunderstood.
They are seen as intimidating—vicious even—but are just using their razor teeth to protect their surprisingly malleable essence locked inside.
They are fiercely loyal, but can still betray the ones they love.
They are me, and I am them.
In the mirror, I see it reflected in the fading lines inlaid on my irises; the desire of strength, of freedom. A hunger for exploring the world through intelligent and wistful eyes, living life on the boundary line between realist and abstract spaces, witnessing the insanity unfolding on both sides. I crave the companionship of other wolves like me, and the presence of my loyalty for them, but also the ability to stand alone and not sense isolation’s dark grip of despair.
I crave to really feel the world that lives beneath the plastic wrapping barrier. Except, there is no possible way, because I just wasn’t meant to experience life like a sheep, or a drone, or another faceless cookie cutter girl with a round head and triangle dress. Like a wolf, I freely pace around the outer edges of life, letting my intuition guide me. I do as I please, think as I please, and be as I please.
Above all else, I keep my brain in tune, and my eyes awake, hoping for another closeted wolf to unbind their body from the lies, and claw out of their toxic, rigid sheep skin.