Ben doesn't understand why I felt the need to tear up my kitchen at such an ungodly hour of the night, but cleaning it up again helped to settle me down... a little.

Always before, when I thought of violence, it was impersonal, calm, a simple release. Rather like sex with someone I don't care about. All the emotions and impulses were contained inside of me, with only consideration for what I felt. My anger, my arm moving to strike out, my release from temper. Always before, I could prevent myself from acting on the emotions. I struck only to defend, and even then, only enough to solve the problem.

I can see now that I was never, truly, a violent person before.

Now, I have no concern for my own body; I already know it will move and act the way that I wish it to. Now my focus has moved outside myself - the rip of flesh, the stench of feces from dying bowels, the sight and sound of prey screaming and trying to escape my wrath, blood in my mouth and nose. Cracking bones and soft wet sounds. Unsatisfied rage and the desperate desire to make the daydream a reality.

I wish I could say that it was only the wolf feeling these things, that the wolf is something outside of myself. Like some sort of multiple-personality disorder. It's not. It's not a matter of the wolf vs. the man, as I'd previously assumed. "The wolf" is not a reality. It's just a body I'll wear for only a few hours one night, every thirty days or so. This rage I feel today? Is in answer to a great wrong, that I am not in a position to correct. The violence I feel? It's not the moon talking - exacerbating, yes, but this isn't coming from outside myself. When it's all said and done, this is very much coming from me.

I feel as though I could paint a town red tonight.