Member-only story
Confession of a Wolf-Biter
Creative non-fiction about compulsive behaviour
It happens after dark when the world gets quiet and foxes screech in time with the barley winds. The moon becomes my badge of honour, yet it is also my dead albatross; a reminder of this sinful gratification.
It’s an unconscious action; until it isn’t. The sight of blood rarely deters me.
An urge, the urge, takes hold and I have to tear at the flesh. My mouth is a weapon. Sometimes it hurts but there is no going back. When it goes too far I am full of regret. Yet, the deed is done; it cannot be taken back.
I can go weeks without succumbing to my urges, feeling safe with myself for a time, but inevitably they return. How do I break this cycle?
Restraints help. Distractions sometimes work, as do the reproachful words of loved ones. Other times, a visceral instinct kicks in and I cannot refrain.
A compulsion is a compulsion; that is what wolf-biting is. I’d like to stop. All sufferers would, I suppose. Some wolf-biters have overcome their affliction, which gives me hope. There is hope in the strength of others.
And this hope, as always, shines on me. It has a name, and in this name is the power to overcome. To understand is to accept. I surrender.
