I Am A Real Werewolf

A Story, Or Rather, Line Of Thought... It is difficult. For at times I may, on a day that seems inherently welcoming and bright, run or walk about as though I were truly free; as though the strangers I pass would see me as I am and not think of it as anything more than a surface for a unique internal creature, not defined by physical nature but instead by actions and by the shear light of my personality. It is difficult because, on other days, I do not feel so open and so much like myself. Because, at times, I am reminded of those who would, without care for the effects of their words, easily insult or dismiss what I am. They have no reason, no justification, other than to hear themselves talk and feel that they are supremely correct. On those days, when I am reminded of unfair judgments and close-minded critiques, I struggle to feel that freedom I so enjoy whenever it rushes past me. I can run, by day or by night, and in those moments feel the weight of that hatred and insensitivity disappear from my mind. However, I cannot escape it, and I cannot for any good reason try to. Rather, I must face it. I try, with what words and logic I can muster to break down the walls of ignorance and insults. I try not only to change the way those so cruel and uncaring see the things they speak of, but also to protect and guide those who are genuinely lost amongst a sea of indistinguishable voices that seem to endlessly argue the absolute extremes of an idea. I try to help whoever I can whenever I can because it is within my ability to do so and because, for reasons I do not entirely understand and will never deny, I have a love for all beings; a love that stems from a desire for progression. A desire that two people arguing, even if in disagreement, can move on and accept their unique perspectives, that those who seek solely to insult and incite conflict are reasoned with or left alone in counter-progression, and that all those who seek answers to questions or advice on even the simplest things can have a place to go and make words towards those goals. I fight, in so indirect a manner, for the good of all people because, regardless of how much I may be frustrated, no person is not worth trying to help. I have no right to force my opinions, but I have every right to seek a better environment, and my perspective is my tool. My words are my weapons. My arguments are my method. It matters not what the extent of my success is, but that I care to make change in the first place. I know that I have been given thanks and that I have helped people in ways so slight and others much more important. That success, no matter the volume, is enough to justify the energy and time I put into my words and my actions. I cannot change the perspectives of some. I cannot deny the close-mindedness that is always present, just as I cannot deny the sting of words spoken without mind or heart. Every day, I try to live a life I did not choose, because to deny my nature is only to waste my own time. I have done that before, and seen what the price of repression is before suffering it. I care not for those who question me or insult me solely because they are driven by their own insecurities to pick on others, hoping somewhere inside that it will make them more adequate. I care not for the chances of success in what I do or for the way the majority of the public views my kind. And although it may be difficult at times, I will live this life and never question its use or seek to end it. I am strong because I accept my fears and my insecurities. I am wise because I accept my ignorance. I am who I am. I am what I am. I am Drachona, and I am a wolf.