Such Sharp Teeth

by Rachel Harrison

The realization is pure heartbreak. Last night changed me. I’m going to be different now. Its nails dig into my thigh. I’m not going to be the same.

I’ll have to accept the suffering. The regular, involuntary surrender of my body. I have no other choice than to deal with it. What can I do? There’s no telling anyone. No sharing this burden. It’s mine. It’s my body.

I heave again, and it’s followed by a small acidic burp, my body asserting itself, always asserting itself with blood and sweat and aches and pain and gas and bile. A reluctance to process dairy. “I get it,” I whisper into my skin. “You win. I’m at your mercy.” My body answers with another heave, because I belong to it more than it belongs to me.

When you’re sad, you cry. When you’re happy, you smile, you laugh. But what do you do when you’re angry? Not just mad, but filled with this ugly, consuming rage? And the thing is, women aren’t allowed to be angry. Nobody likes a mad woman. They’re crazy, irrational, obnoxious, shrill.

“Yeah, but then what? My whole life will be different. And I’m not going to look the same. I know that’s shallow. But it’s like I’m not allowed to grieve my body. I’m meant to be, like, ‘This is magical. I’m a mother now, so nothing about me matters anymore.’ I don’t know. Maybe that’s terrible and selfish. Maybe I’m a monster.”

The werewolf thing only enhances all the parts of me that were already broken and wrong. It’s trapped me with the worst of myself. It’s my reckoning.

The violence has me salivating. When given the opportunity to rage, I will rage.

There’s no winning. The trauma is either your fault or it’s a gift.

When I get home, I take a long bath. Soak until I prune. Think. When I get out, I don’t avoid my reflection. It’s me. It’s just me. Wild and fierce and imperfect. I kiss my fingers, then touch them to the mirror.

Once I stopped thinking about what my life wasn’t going to be, I started to see what it could be.

My strength doesn’t come from the bad things that have happened to me. It defies those things.

I’m going to maintain my composure. I’m going to resolve this calmly and maturely and then move on with my life as a charismatic lady/terrifying beast.

“Did you ever stop to think about my life, how I grew up? All those creeps that my mom brought around. You have no idea what I’ve been through, the things I’m dealing with. And, yeah, I’m confident. I know my worth. I know how I present myself. But I’m not fucking invulnerable. So I’m sorry. I know I messed up. But it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I care so much, it terrifies me.”

I forgot. I’m so used to being reminded how ugly a place the world can be, I forgot it could be beautiful, too.

“It was so hard,” she says. “Why does it have to be so hard?” “For us ladies to prove how strong and amazing we are so we can continue to be overlooked for leadership positions and receive less pay.”