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Ever since my first transformation, nothing has been the same. I'm starting this journal because I don't think I can talk to a therapist without being locked away. They would think I'm psychotic. There isn't anyone I can turn to talk about this. Nobody who would believe me.

I don't relate to people the way I used to. The feeling of sameness and belonging is gone. It's kind of like when you're at the zoo, you look at other creatures and there is something foreign about them. That sense of automatic empathy that used to happen when other people talked about their feelings is more distant. It's like a smaller part of who I am, less central to what it feels like to be me.

In some ways the differences are subtle. I'm still the same woman on the surface. Nobody has really commented that I seem different in any way. Maybe they are just being polite. Or maybe that's because I haven't been spending as much time around them. Since the first time it happened, I've been more and more reclusive. Either way, the feeling of having your personality gradually shift is really unsettling. It's not like there are day and night, human and monster, woman and wolf. It's like they are on a spectrum and the lines keep blurring together.

I keep getting these impulses that I know aren't really "me." But doesn't the fact that I am feeling them make them part of who I am? The sight of raw meat used to really gross me out. I tried to be a vegetarian off and on again when I was a teenager, it seemed like a healthy idea, like the compassionate thing to do. But now I keep yearning for it. I keep ordering rare meat when I go out to eat. There is this urge to eat it raw, and I don't want to give into it. On some level, I'm afraid the more I give into those inclinations the more I'll lose touch with the person I used to be.

Then there is the effect on my sexuality. That's the really disturbing part. It started before the first time that I changed. I was alone in my room in the afternoon and I felt like sex. But when I closed my eyes and started to touch myself, the images and feelings just weren't right. I kept picturing people turn into animal monsters. The images were confusing, I had never thought too much about werewolves or anything like that. I thought it was just trauma from the attack, from when I was bitten. But as the days went on I found that I couldn't really climax without imagining the transformation. That's when I started to think there was something wrong with me. I tried to put it out of my mind but it wasn't long before the first full moon happened and I was forced to learn the truth.

The change has happened to me to me three times now. Just like in the movies it only happens when the moon is full. Before the sun goes down, I start to feel different, bodily, emotionally, mentally. It comes on slow at first but then it becomes like a waking nightmare. It hurts, it's terrifying.

The first time it happened I was afraid I was going insane or dying. Then I saw myself in the mirror and I screamed. My voice didn't sound right, it sounded like as much like a frightened animal as a human woman. I screamed and wept through the whole thing. Tore my room apart, wrecked my stuff, woke up naked in the woods behind my apartment.

I wound up lying in bed for days after it happened. Since I had been injured recently in the attack when I was bitten, I had a fair enough excuse not to go to work. My mind kept running in circles, refusing to accept such an impossible situation.

The impulses only got worse, the aggressive thoughts, the cravings. It wasn't like something else had taken over me and left, it was more like I was still transforming. I kept reacting to people and situations in ways that startled me. My mind and my emotions increasingly diverged from their familiar patterns.

I tried to learn more about real werewolves online, but there was nothing remotely helpful. A lot of scattered stories and rumors. Conflicting belief systems, urban myths, that sort of thing. The information from historical sources was just as useless. Nothing in the old texts seemed to match what I was experiencing. It seemed like people wanted to forget the truth.

The second time it happened, I was praying that it wouldn't. I don't believe in god but I was praying anyway. I have no idea what I was praying to. Maybe to the universe, maybe to whatever unholy force causes the transformation to happen.

I had rented a cabin upstate so I could be alone. I remember pacing back and forth, still wearing clothes from work. I kept balling my first and pulling at my hair and talking to myself. I looked in the mirror, again and again, baring my teeth, checking my hands. It felt like having a nervous breakdown.

And when I started to feel it coming I couldn't help myself from crying. I watched myself in the mirror through the tears as the sweat-soaked through my shirt and my eyes began to glow. The pain started and I doubled over, gripping my stomach. As I tore out of my clothes, as my body bent and broke, I just couldn't stop crying. It was worse than the first time, worse because I understood what was happening to me, worse because I knew that it would keep on happening forever.

But most disturbing of all, there was something inside me that wanted more. As the change continued I started to feel extremely, well, turned on. That really terrified me because a persons sexuality is part of who they really are. If some kind of curse or whatever this is can warp that, then who am I really? I've never experienced hating myself before. More especially, I've never been conflicted about my sexuality. But at that moment I resented what I wanted, felt betrayed by my own body. I tried not to go along with it, but I did, helplessly.

I kept touching myself until I...finished. And it was only then that the rest of the change spilled out of me, like a violent seizure, like being torn apart from the inside out. I didn't care about the pain, I didn't care about the terror, I only cared about the need. My face cracked and the wolf howled and my heart broke as I came -- more violently than any human woman should.

After that, the thoughts about the transformation became like an addiction. I started going online and watching scenes from shitty movies, just so I could see the change. I felt so guilty that I put on headphones and watched on my phone, hiding beneath my blanket. And when I was done I just didn't think about it. I put it from my mind in complete denial.

Sometimes I would start to fantasize about turning someone else, making them like me. But I knew that would be a horrible thing to do. I couldn't subject someone else to the same trauma I've been living through. It would destroy their life and put even more people in danger. I would never be that selfish. No matter what I turn into and no matter what is going on inside of me, I would never do that to somebody. I hope.

Maybe that's why someone did this to me. The police and the doctors thought it was a miracle I survived. What if I was supposed to survive? The very thought enrages me. No one has the right to force this on someone. That goddamn asshole isn't a monster because he is a werewolf. He's a monster because he did this to me. I bet it was on purpose. Why else would I have survived? But if that's true then why hasn't he come looking for me?

By the time of my third full moon, I was more prepared. I rented the same cabin and set up a camera beside the bedroom mirror so I could watch everything later. I told myself it was so I could confirm I wasn't crazy. So I could remember clearly. So I could understand what was happening to me. But none of that was true.

By this point, I had been having sexual fantasies about this sort of thing for months. It would be exaggerating to say that I accepted it or wanted it to happen. I kept bargaining with myself, trying to avoid indulging in the urge to fantasize about it. But it was a losing battle. There was no point trying to talk myself out of it. And so I took some extra steps to make the experience more bearable...more enjoyable.

When I was a little younger, I used to do all kinds of drugs to explore myself, to grow as a person, but usually just to have fun. So I made some phone calls and found a source of MDMA (otherwise known as ecstasy). If you're not familiar with it, it makes your body feel good and it opens up your emotions. Yes, it's true that people often take it for sex. But they also take it to heal from trauma and process difficult memories. So, I thought that it would help me cope with the change. The story I kept telling myself it might pacify the werewolf and calm her down, but in reality, I needed it to cope with the terror.

For some reason, I decided to get dressed up. I guess that idea came from looking at transformation art on the internet. I figured it would be better to try to have a good time, but it was also a coping mechanism to distract me from the fear. Part of me was excited, part of me was terrified, and part of me resented that I didn't have the willpower to keep on hating what was happening to me. On one level, it was like getting dressed up to live out a fantasy. On another level, it was like giving into a nightmare. I was wearing a tight black dress, riding low on my shoulders and hugging my hips like lingerie. Beneath it, I had on my nicest set of underwear, pink lace with delicate embroidery.

I had taken the pills an hour before the moon was set to rise, so by the time it did I was feeling calm and open. All of the conflicting feelings seemed to wash away and I was able to feel a bit acceptance, even though my heart was starting to beat with unnatural force and my temperature was beginning to rise. Yes, this condition had been forced on me, but at that moment it felt like I was better off embracing it.

The drugs began to give a warm glow to all of my sensations and perceptions. I smiled quietly as I rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, watching myself in the mirror. The first sensations began in my abdomen. A clenching of the muscles followed by the unnerving feeling of my body rearranging from within. It still hurt. A lot. But I was okay with it. Instinctively I gripped my stomach and gritted my teeth. Every muscle in my body began to tense and strain. The drugs gave me just enough emotional impartiality to really watch and appreciate what was happening. Otherwise, I would have started panicking like last time.

I looked up at my reflection in the mirror panting and sweating as my eyes began to glow. For the first time, I thought that they looked beautiful this way. My brow furrowed as my teeth began to grow and sharpen. At the same, my ears began to poke through my hair, pointed ever so slightly just like my teeth.

I decided to touch myself before the pain became too extreme to be a distraction. I slid one hand inside my underwear while I held the other one in front of me. I watched it grow, pulse, break and reshape before my eyes. My nails broke off as bloody claws pushed out from underneath my fingertips. Black talons meant to kill, a stark contrast with the softness of my skin and the warmth of my drug-induced serenity. The hand between my legs was changing too, and that excited me.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the agony began to build. But at the same time, the ecstasy made all of it feel amazing. As my body slid back and forth, the crescendo of pain was harmonized in a silent melody of sensual pleasure and emotional acceptance. It was hard to tell if the substance I had taken was synergistic with the transformation or merely dampening the pain and trauma.

I could feel a burning itch begin to spread throughout my body, a sign that fur would soon be blooming everywhere. The ecstasy accentuated the smooth feeling of my dress against my skin, the halting sensation of my body's contours straining against my frame. As I touched myself the sharpness of my claws only served to drive me further into heat. I had to be careful not to cut myself, but the danger only made it more exciting. Part of me felt that what I was doing was sick. That I was choosing to indulge some kind of warped fetish about what could only be a curse. But most of me simply didn't care.

The pain intensified and my muscles tensed. A fine sheen of fur began to sprout in several places, fist along my hands and forearms, then along my back and shoulders. It was light and wispy, only gentle hint of what was soon to come. My body writhed like a serpent, my curves contorting in a bestial rhythm. Soft gasps escaping between increasingly labored breaths. The fur grew darker and more bristled as thick brown pads condensed along my once smooth palms and fingertips. The same process was happening to my feet, now tipped with claws, tearing through my stockings, scraping at the carpet of the bedroom floor.

I could feel myself growing and I worked the hand between my legs more fervently. My teeth were becoming too big for my mouth, a savage contrast from the softness of my all-too-human lips. My ribs began to push against the dress, my chest straining uncomfortably against my bra. A sheen of fur was creeping up between breasts, expanding across my chest as it heaved with greater intensity. I couldn't tell if my breasts were actually growing or if it only seemed that way because my rib cage was beginning to expand and my back muscles were beginning to bulge. The process pressed them together tightly, a denser and darker tuft of fur blossoming between them.

Looking in the mirror, I was still my petite fit, feminine self -- mostly. But some of my proportions were increasingly unnatural, suggesting the beast that was struggling to emerge. The muscles on my back were growing faster than the rest of my body, contorting my posture in a vaguely monstrous sort of way. I marveled that the ecstasy was giving me enough calm to watch this happen without panicking from the fear or screaming from the pain. I could feel how much it hurt but I didn't care. In fact, I was enraptured.

I touched myself faster at that point, thrilled by the contrast between the soft delicacy of my human form and the creature I was becoming. The straps and clasps of my bra were beginning to strain. It dug into my flesh in a way that was simultaneously uncomfortable and exciting. Suddenly I decided to pull the dress off. I had wanted to see myself tear our of it, but at the last moment, I became afraid that it would hurt too much to rip through something that was already so tight.

As I stood up through the dress on the floor I discovered that my balance had shifted. It didn't feel natural to be on two legs, the shape of my feet had already changed too much. Even so, I struggled to stand upright for just a moment. I wanted to look at myself in the mirror.

My face was vaguely feral although largely untransformed. My hands and feet had changed completely, their appearance overlarge and beastly. A line of fur extended from beneath my underwear up between my breasts. More fur adorned my shoulders, my forearms, my hips, and my shins. Although my frame was somewhat normal, probably about the same in silhouette, my muscles were astonishingly well developed and growing rapidly. I liked the way I looked. It felt like a natural compromise between the forces inside me. All the more enticing because it wouldn't last for long.

After a moment, I let myself drop onto all fours, feeling a sense of terror and excitement as my hands hit the ground. My limited experience had led me to expect that doing so would bring about the final and most excruciating phase of the change.

I braced myself, my eyes squeezed shut, my body shuttering. After a moment my lower spine began to grow and reshape itself, to jut outward, stretching the skin as my tail began to form. Every inch of length it gained was agonizing. I shrieked and flinched, crying out more violently, unable to close my mouth because of my fangs.

The drug was not enough to quell the pain. I started to weep, sobbing between choked breaths, finally overwhelmed by the cruel intensity of it all. But then, as the tail assumed its final shape, jutting out in freakish contrast to the softness of my butt, the sensation drove me over the edge. All of a sudden I couldn't help but orgasm.

The horror and the beauty of it was surreal.

My arms and legs gained monstrous amounts of muscle as the softness of my hips and my butt evaporated. I was changing faster now, as if the process were accelerated by the release a moment earlier. As my muscles grew and my fur thickened, the clasp of my bra finally gave way. My breasts shook, partially concealed behind a thick mane of wolfish fur.

I kept masturbating, panting, shrieking, my voice degenerating into the rumbling growl of a predator. The drug made it all too easy to enjoy the sensation, to ride the transformation rather than being trampled by it. My whole body was changing at once as I approached another climax. My underwear broke away as I shuttered and rocked my inhuman hips.

I had no idea what I looked like at this point. The changes were too violent and too rapid. Part of my mind was still taking refuge in the serene glow of the MDMA. I felt in that moment that I was fortunate in a way. What I was experiencing was beyond sex, and I was becoming something more than human. I felt grateful for what was happening, even as my face contorted violently, my skull breaking and restructuring, stretching the skin as my orgasm rocked my body. I screamed and howled as my face became a muzzle, every muscle, every nerve ending joining in a final chorus of agony as the wolf was finally reborn.

...And so that was it. Now a few days later I am sitting here judging myself. I look in the mirror and I see someone I don't know how to relate to. I am still the same woman -- for the most part. But with each transformation, I come back different. And that scares me because I have no idea where all of this is headed.

It took a lot of courage to write this down. I'd be mortified if anyone ever read this shit. They would think I'm insane. Even worse, what would they make of all this sexually confused rambling?

I've watched the video a few times now. Sometimes it disgusts me. And sometimes, well, you know. But I shouldn't let that tendency make me complacent. Whenever I get drawn into romanticizing this, I remind myself the creature I become is dangerous. Or at the very least, it's a force I don't understand, something I should be wary of.

I've gone through local news in my area and around the cabin, looking for signs that I attacked someone. I keep trying different keywords, but nothing ever comes up. The only news story about an animal attack is the one about me being bitten, a short article from the local paper four months ago.

On another note, all that "acceptance" didn't exactly stick. The problem with using drugs therapeutically is that the insights don't automatically translate directly into your sober point of view. Not right away anyhow. Every form of therapy takes time. There are no easy answers when it comes to personal healing, especially when there is trauma involved.

Most of the time I think the ecstasy was a wise move. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Sometimes, though, bringing drugs into this seems like an even more elaborate way to lie to myself. I may be trying not to face the fact the horrible reality of this condition.

The first time I watched the video, it really freaked me out. The sight of myself as a half-woman half-wolf thing was hard to take in. Seeing it happen while I was totally human, in a normal state of consciousness, I felt an ominous kind of dread. As I watched the change accelerate, I felt disturbed that I had no way to explain what I was seeing.

In my spare time, I like to read about science. I'm no professional but I know what are supposed to be some basic facts about reality. And science can't possibly account for this kind of transformation. Evolution has no reason for this. Humans and wolves aren't even on the same part of the phylogenetic tree. And the moon, why in the world would it do this? I had thought about all this before, but looking at it now it made me feel hopelessly ignorant -- and more alone than ever.

How many people are there in the world who know that werewolves are real? And if they are real then what else? Thinking about this leads into a bottomless pit of uncertainty. I want to understand what this implies about life and reality, about myself and other people like me. But I have no idea where to begin or if there's any information I can trust.

I tried watching the video again a few days later. This time I got sucked in. Within a few minutes, I was hiding under the blanket, wearing my headphones, and doing you know what. Only now it was better. More intoxicating. More addictive.

So where does that leave me? I have this twisted love-hate relationship with this...condition. It evokes these _feelings_that I can't explain and that I often don't want to accept. Maybe that's the way this curse gets its claws into you. These sexual feelings could be a way of getting you to go along with it. Or it could be a way to get me to find others, turn into something just like me. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm intoxicated with this for no good reason, and I have nothing to blame but the weirdness of my own damn psyche.

It's only been three months. I think I'm dealing with it pretty well. I've always been pretty introspective, open and curious. Somebody less well adjusted would have cracked by now. I think I've got a good grip on this, even if I am afraid.

I don't have much choice but to try and cope. Externalizing something is an important step in coping. Or so they say. As this goes on, I guess I'll keep a record of what happens. Maybe that will help me find some peace with all of this.

Time will tell.