to be more of a therian
To be suffocated by the stigma yet drowning in the comfort of an identity so unacceptable, is acceptance in itself.
I do not do quadrobics. I do not wear masks. I have never met another, with my theriotype.
I suppose many of us — who don’t prance around on all fours and broadcast an aesthetic typically associated with this identity to people online — feel alone and invisible in our own community.
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So I only exist confined in my own mind. And the mind, when all alone, without anyone but itself to reassure all of its thoughts, is a place where the perception of self is warped, unchecked.
As self aware as I claim to be, as many of times as I own up to my own mistakes, as brave as I am to look my human eyes in the mirror, deep down I know I am voluntarily choosing to believe my experience is involuntary.
It isn’t denial of my own identity, for I know what I am.
It is simply a denial of the fact that I don’t believe when somebody says ‘it’s all in your head.’
Because nobody wants to admit that.
