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About My Absence (& Return)
3 years ago
General
ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ The last time I actively associated with furries was at a local con in 2018. It was already a bad year. I had lost a few old friends and I was hoping I could somehow magically make new ones at a con in my city where I had no one to hang out with... I got there, and I was frozen.
I was so filled with anxiety I couldn't leave the side of my truck. I messaged a few friends. I just needed a friend to feel more comfortable. I was drowning in terror, not knowing where to go or what to do. 20 years in the fandom and I had no one to talk to...to just laugh with.
Eventually, a friend in another state said he had a friend at the con and he would see if they could come meet me. It was all extremely embarrassing, as it is now admitting to it. The con did not go well. I mostly talked to non-furries that hung out on the outskirts.
Acceptance was something I never got to feel inthe fandom. I craved being a part of things. To just play and be silly and have friends like other furs. I never got to do this, and now instead of being the shy young weirdo, I have the added issue of looking like the creepy old guy
I stopped going to any local meets or cons. I stayed home & did my art, but it was shortly after this that I lost my doctor and access to ADHD meds. I'm not in the best location for mental health assistance, plus being unmedicated with ADD, it's a nightmare figuring anything out.
My weight made me happy, but any new doctors didn't like what they saw, and even though I started exercising and got my blood pressure under control, nothing was enough, and I was put through the ringer. I just gave up and started trying local gay bars in hopes to find friends.
The bartender became my new doctor, and alcohol the new medication. I never cared to drink before. A 6 pack of hard lemonade stayed in my fridge for over a year. Now I was drinking a pitcher of cider just to start the night off. It killed that debilitating shyness at least.
Almost 5 months I had gone out anytime I could afford it. Sometimes 3 times a week. I would laugh and talk with guys. I loved meeting people and just having conversations, but I wasn't there for sex and I don't like sleeping around, so unfortunately I made no lasting friendships.
1 old habit crept in while drinking, there was always a cigarette to be bummed, put that on top of cheap liquor in the $2drinks and the ephedrine I was taking as a crappy Adderall replacement AND anxiety during a bad night where there wasn't anyone I could talk to & you get . . .
A Heart Attack.
Okay, there was also me being over a hundred pounds overweight and cooking ribeyes with whole sticks of butter and mixing chocolate milk with canola oil, but I'm sure the other stuff helped in their own unique ways.
I'm kinda glad I was drunk when they put the stint in. I don't remember it at all. Not a drop of anxiety in the OR or whatever that was they put me in.
Not anxiety, but tears leaked right out as I realized that was it. That was my life. I fucked it all up and for what? For whom?
I was a good musician once and wrote good songs. Where did that go? My last partner didn't show any appreciation for it, so I drew instead. My guitar sat for sometimes months without being touched. I never sat down and played anything anymore. Not a single song.
I would get tiny little doses if love and acceptance by getting comments after showing off my big belly online. By growing bigger. By always pushing because nothing was ever enough for anybody. And when you have Hyperactivity in your wiring, gaining weight ain't easy... (canola oil in chocolate milk!)
Facing death was one thing, but when it happened to me, I was literally physically reaching an arm out at people in a bar I was patronizing regularly, literally saying, "Help" and got Nothing.
I had to gather myself and make my way to my own truck.
That was what did it for me.
Stop killing myself to be accepted by people who won't care. When I'm not there, they find someone else. There was no one in my life anymore but me.
I pulled all my music back out. Afraid I'd die within the year, I started gathering everything to put up online before another heart attack came along and took me for good.
That was January 2020. Any big plans I had made to focus on my own stuff was about to not seem like it was my own decision anymore.
I started streaming on youtube, late at night. Playing music for over five hours at a time some nights. I didn't know if anyone would hear me.
I just imagined there might be someone else like me out there. Alone. Afraid. Unable to connect to anyone as much as it billows in their hearts to do so. And I didn't expect any response. Only to connect. To help someone else not feel so alone. Just to spend the time.
Doctors never had anything to say. They were baffled, always asking if I had family history with early heart attacks (no). My blood pressure was fine. The EKG readings looked good. "Just keep taking the medication," they'd say. Which I did as long as I could afford it.
Two and a half years later and I'm still alive. I threw out the scales I had (I didn't want amy relapses), so I never knew my weight unless I was at the doctor's. A year ago I was 267 with clothes. About a 25 lb loss. It dropped more over the past year and I got pretty depressed.
Just like my music was still there inside me, so was a rat, and a furry. Just as I had ignored my music and writing while working on my art, ever since I lost my medication (my Dumbo feather), I had stopped drawing.
So during the bar months, I was doing a great big artistic nada.
I hadn't even looked at my art (or the gross amount of belly pics I took during my gaining years). I was terrified to try to draw again. The medication helped me relax and focus. I could clearly see what I could do, and then I could actually DO it! And KEEP doing it...
Now I was back to being a scattered mess all the time, pulling myself forward through the day one action at a time. "Planning" in any form is just not a thing for me now. I don't even know what I'm going to say next.
But I'll try to finish this. And we are at the end. The present. Twitter I can get. In my scattered mental normal, I can understand Twitter. I can manage it on my phone. Way better than any art website. So putting my art back up on Twitter was, ADHD-ly speaking, very reasonable.
First, I got rid of my FA account. I hadn't been there in years other than to drop a music-stream link and run. As an artist, I need a way to upload easily and get any feedback instantly (I'm fragile that way, but it helps).
Unfortunately, as I talk to ppl, I see Twitter has become a whole other beast for everyone else. After a night when the loneliness crushed me from all sides, I fought against my cautious nature and followed back 300 accounts.
Part of dealing with this ADD thing involves simplifying my surroundings. This includes what I see online. I work best when I can just watch people I know and form close safe relationships. Of course that's the ideal... I also get distressed when there's suddenly no one around.
So I criticize myself and think I'm being too "precious" with my friendship. It might be good to give more than to just expect others to come to me (how high and mighty of me!).
But I don't think I'm snobbish. I'm scared. It's something I just have to learn to fight. Other people might be afraid too...
So to anyone who's heard me say I have too much to ever burden anyone with, this is a great big chunk of it. I hope I haven't filled timelines with all this drivel, but I had to get it out.
I've been increasingly emotional this week, and I know keeping it in will only hurt more.
So there it is in case anyone wondered. This is why I stopped posting art. This is why I stopped gaining. This is why I haven't been around
Only by coming back and trying again I now realize I can't just come in quiet and act like none of this matters. It makes things difficult.
I may never get that life I wished I could have in this or any other community. I will do my best to treat others the way I wish I was treated. That's the best I can do.
Thank you for reading any of this. If you read it all, I'm staggered.
Thank you,
Jack Roundrat
# I saved the FA account in time...
I was so filled with anxiety I couldn't leave the side of my truck. I messaged a few friends. I just needed a friend to feel more comfortable. I was drowning in terror, not knowing where to go or what to do. 20 years in the fandom and I had no one to talk to...to just laugh with.
Eventually, a friend in another state said he had a friend at the con and he would see if they could come meet me. It was all extremely embarrassing, as it is now admitting to it. The con did not go well. I mostly talked to non-furries that hung out on the outskirts.
Acceptance was something I never got to feel inthe fandom. I craved being a part of things. To just play and be silly and have friends like other furs. I never got to do this, and now instead of being the shy young weirdo, I have the added issue of looking like the creepy old guy
I stopped going to any local meets or cons. I stayed home & did my art, but it was shortly after this that I lost my doctor and access to ADHD meds. I'm not in the best location for mental health assistance, plus being unmedicated with ADD, it's a nightmare figuring anything out.
My weight made me happy, but any new doctors didn't like what they saw, and even though I started exercising and got my blood pressure under control, nothing was enough, and I was put through the ringer. I just gave up and started trying local gay bars in hopes to find friends.
The bartender became my new doctor, and alcohol the new medication. I never cared to drink before. A 6 pack of hard lemonade stayed in my fridge for over a year. Now I was drinking a pitcher of cider just to start the night off. It killed that debilitating shyness at least.
Almost 5 months I had gone out anytime I could afford it. Sometimes 3 times a week. I would laugh and talk with guys. I loved meeting people and just having conversations, but I wasn't there for sex and I don't like sleeping around, so unfortunately I made no lasting friendships.
1 old habit crept in while drinking, there was always a cigarette to be bummed, put that on top of cheap liquor in the $2drinks and the ephedrine I was taking as a crappy Adderall replacement AND anxiety during a bad night where there wasn't anyone I could talk to & you get . . .
A Heart Attack.
Okay, there was also me being over a hundred pounds overweight and cooking ribeyes with whole sticks of butter and mixing chocolate milk with canola oil, but I'm sure the other stuff helped in their own unique ways.
I'm kinda glad I was drunk when they put the stint in. I don't remember it at all. Not a drop of anxiety in the OR or whatever that was they put me in.
Not anxiety, but tears leaked right out as I realized that was it. That was my life. I fucked it all up and for what? For whom?
I was a good musician once and wrote good songs. Where did that go? My last partner didn't show any appreciation for it, so I drew instead. My guitar sat for sometimes months without being touched. I never sat down and played anything anymore. Not a single song.
I would get tiny little doses if love and acceptance by getting comments after showing off my big belly online. By growing bigger. By always pushing because nothing was ever enough for anybody. And when you have Hyperactivity in your wiring, gaining weight ain't easy... (canola oil in chocolate milk!)
Facing death was one thing, but when it happened to me, I was literally physically reaching an arm out at people in a bar I was patronizing regularly, literally saying, "Help" and got Nothing.
I had to gather myself and make my way to my own truck.
That was what did it for me.
Stop killing myself to be accepted by people who won't care. When I'm not there, they find someone else. There was no one in my life anymore but me.
I pulled all my music back out. Afraid I'd die within the year, I started gathering everything to put up online before another heart attack came along and took me for good.
That was January 2020. Any big plans I had made to focus on my own stuff was about to not seem like it was my own decision anymore.
I started streaming on youtube, late at night. Playing music for over five hours at a time some nights. I didn't know if anyone would hear me.
I just imagined there might be someone else like me out there. Alone. Afraid. Unable to connect to anyone as much as it billows in their hearts to do so. And I didn't expect any response. Only to connect. To help someone else not feel so alone. Just to spend the time.
Doctors never had anything to say. They were baffled, always asking if I had family history with early heart attacks (no). My blood pressure was fine. The EKG readings looked good. "Just keep taking the medication," they'd say. Which I did as long as I could afford it.
Two and a half years later and I'm still alive. I threw out the scales I had (I didn't want amy relapses), so I never knew my weight unless I was at the doctor's. A year ago I was 267 with clothes. About a 25 lb loss. It dropped more over the past year and I got pretty depressed.
Just like my music was still there inside me, so was a rat, and a furry. Just as I had ignored my music and writing while working on my art, ever since I lost my medication (my Dumbo feather), I had stopped drawing.
So during the bar months, I was doing a great big artistic nada.
I hadn't even looked at my art (or the gross amount of belly pics I took during my gaining years). I was terrified to try to draw again. The medication helped me relax and focus. I could clearly see what I could do, and then I could actually DO it! And KEEP doing it...
Now I was back to being a scattered mess all the time, pulling myself forward through the day one action at a time. "Planning" in any form is just not a thing for me now. I don't even know what I'm going to say next.
But I'll try to finish this. And we are at the end. The present. Twitter I can get. In my scattered mental normal, I can understand Twitter. I can manage it on my phone. Way better than any art website. So putting my art back up on Twitter was, ADHD-ly speaking, very reasonable.
First, I got rid of my FA account. I hadn't been there in years other than to drop a music-stream link and run. As an artist, I need a way to upload easily and get any feedback instantly (I'm fragile that way, but it helps).
Unfortunately, as I talk to ppl, I see Twitter has become a whole other beast for everyone else. After a night when the loneliness crushed me from all sides, I fought against my cautious nature and followed back 300 accounts.
Part of dealing with this ADD thing involves simplifying my surroundings. This includes what I see online. I work best when I can just watch people I know and form close safe relationships. Of course that's the ideal... I also get distressed when there's suddenly no one around.
So I criticize myself and think I'm being too "precious" with my friendship. It might be good to give more than to just expect others to come to me (how high and mighty of me!).
But I don't think I'm snobbish. I'm scared. It's something I just have to learn to fight. Other people might be afraid too...
So to anyone who's heard me say I have too much to ever burden anyone with, this is a great big chunk of it. I hope I haven't filled timelines with all this drivel, but I had to get it out.
I've been increasingly emotional this week, and I know keeping it in will only hurt more.
So there it is in case anyone wondered. This is why I stopped posting art. This is why I stopped gaining. This is why I haven't been around
Only by coming back and trying again I now realize I can't just come in quiet and act like none of this matters. It makes things difficult.
I may never get that life I wished I could have in this or any other community. I will do my best to treat others the way I wish I was treated. That's the best I can do.
Thank you for reading any of this. If you read it all, I'm staggered.
Thank you,
Jack Roundrat
# I saved the FA account in time...
I, too, have craved to be a part of things. For a while. Looking in from the outside and wondering why it doesn't work for me - known about this thing for 11 years, been trying to overcome my shyness and talk to people for 7+ of those years. I tried going to Anthrocon for my second con, attendees were 50% rude (first interaction of the con was asking someone for directions, to which they replied "What?" over and over, until I realized they could actually hear me just fine, they just didn't think I was worth more than a single word).
Been through the whole range of emotions, seen all there is to see. Just haven't seen much of it for myself, firsthand, and over time it starts to wear on me and make me more cynical than I already am.
This year I've gone from considering 28 to be much older than myself, to suddenly considering people 35+ to be my age peers. For what it's worth, much of a nobody as I myself am, I will never judge someone for merely being older. I hope to not judge people for their appearance in general, resisting the instinct to do so. (Now if only I wasn't a nobody...)
At the small con I enjoy going to I have quite a few "con buddies" after going for 4-5 years, but once I come home I'm... well, alone. I can count my friends on one hand, and could still do so if I lost a finger or two. Even at con, I have never been to or been invited to a room party.
>but I wasn't there for sex and I don't like sleeping around, so unfortunately I made no lasting friendships
I feel this way frequently. As if it makes me not worth others' time. I could swear it once wasn't this way, but I'm probably wrong... I hope I am wrong on that, actually.
>Thank you for reading any of this. If you read it all, I'm staggered.
And thank you for reading my comment, if you do. Hope things go well for you, and welcome back. The main thing I've realized is the only way to make things like I wish they were is to try my best to do those things myself, even if I'm not good at it.
If you ever want me to try to make an avatar image for you to use, I'll be happy to give it a go. Out of loner solidarity!
*big fat ratty hugs*
Jack
Though, about 50% of the reason I don't have an icon by this point is I've never designed a fursona for myself - it can't just be something random, it has to be *me*, you know? (I have never understood adoptables.) And I haven't had time to stop and think about it, the last 5 years of my life have been unpleasantly busy.
But if I ever do make a fursona, I'll ask about it. :)
(squishes into that big, furry belly)
*hugs*
If you wanted to chitchat, I'm always up for that (expect occasional delays). Caveat is I don't have telegram/discord like everyone else, I've managed to avoid owning a smartphone this long (but will probably buy one soon... if I get the time to). So I only have FA notes and email, mildly preferring email. But I am happy to talk!
Adoptables are Abominable!
Also the "creepy old guy" comment, I too am above the infamous "expired furry" age. But I've met a good number of people who I've managed to become friends with are considered "too old" for the fandom. You'll find at meets and cons they're younger because the rest of us are very busy in life with work and other commitments unable to attend or are the ones behind the scenes running the show for the "not too old" crowd. It comes up again and again but don't let it get to you. Us "oldies" are here and not going anywhere. The 30+ crowd grows year by year as they realize we all age at the same rate :P
I don't wanna fill the comment section up with fluff so I'll just round out saying thank you for sharing your story and I really enjoy the art you share with us! Also if you want to chat anytime feel free to send me a note for my telegram if you want (might be a bit of a timezone difference however)