Sometimes I grow tired and in the battle between my good and my evil, the darker wolf inside of me comes to life.

When I am rested or in actual nature, rarely does this wolf present itself. There are moments, even then, when I grow frustrated over a battery dying on my phone and I get anxious and edgy and unable to be soothed by anyone, but myself and time.

I can beat that wolf away with just a glance. At most, it takes a strongly worded statement of certainty that the wolf would not be entertained, even if it was present in the background.

When I am tired or when I feel so scared that I scratch while I look for the closest, safe person; this wolf comes alive. I thank God I’ve identified it and can breath squarely or feel grass under my feet to make it walk away.

Since I got sick, I became fearful. When bruises show up for no reason and you fall down the stairs with tanking blood pressure, absolutely everything feels scary. The joyful part of me is hiding and I drag it out forcefully hourly most days.

That joy feeds my better wolf. Love, companionship, laughter, and stillness all feed the part of me that needs to live the most. Hands that could bat away haunting accusations or misunderstandings are busy rubbing bones that feel like they’re breaking, as some of them have been.

That dark wolf has a tongue and it doesn’t desire flesh and bone, it demands the final word and it demands immediate explanations that will never come.

The dark wolf exists in a nightmare. The things it truly seeks; those things do not exist. There is no resolution. There is no clarifying comment that will unring a bell that time has made sound more and more off key.

What was once a genuine sting became a gaping wound; no words can fix a gaping wound caused half by your own misperception.

Left to the course of nature, the worse wolf will live as it destroys those around it. Most worst wolves do not roam freely in the street.

Mine is hidden until moments of exhaustion or over stimulation. Anger sits like hot coals in my belly so those are the times I sink and grow silent and withdraw into a cave that feels distant, but cold. I erupted momentarily and killed that wolf; I hope.

That wolf’s fuel is poison and misremembers good because bad was so much more impactful. The worse wolf is a ferocious martyr, lying to itself about how to get off it’s own cross.

The dark wolf runs on feeling alone and cannot be honored in moments of uncertainty. Feelings make an amazing guide when you’re centered, but will devour your decision making skills if honored, when in doubt.

Feed your better wolf, me. Yes, you.