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How do you fare?
2 years ago
General
So, anyone who knows me would come to know that I've had a rocky time in furry. Even though I grew up watching the Anthrocon parade, year after year, and drawing Neopets and Pokemon fanart, that spark now feels like a memory of the past.
When I think of furry nowadays, I think of how I've been treated. Since my soft return, I've been greeted by some of the few graces who keep me threaded to this hobby instead of forgetting it and allowing Faun to rot to death & all I have with her. For this, I am very grateful. However, every time I lift my pencil or look at my Toyhouse, I am met with a deep, hollowing sense of dread that nearly pushes me to tears.
I think of all the friends I've lost. All of their stolen concepts. All of their stolen art. How they've been taken advantage of. How this all happened to me too. How my characters were bought out from under me in a vulnerable time even when I had rejected the sale. How people cared more about the OCs I had than my humanity and how these things would affect me forever.... How everything I thought furries found sacred, like honesty, friendship, intellectual property rights, etc. were true amongst some, but a smokescreen used by others at pick and choosing moments to further their agenda.
To put it simply, I'm paralyzed by the fear. I know I have always had the talent and know how to be pivotal or helpful to the longevity of this hobby for all, I mean who else can say their family made them a furry? Who else can say they grew up waiting for the AnthroCon parade? Few, from what I've seen.
This is my home, but it has been ransacked. Now, I'm struggling to take the bricks down from the wall that I felt compelled to place in response. The final straws were long beyond snapped and I ran on fumes, all I had was a wall of silence to protect me.
Another simply put, I have never related to the deer more than I do now. I'm flighty, nervous, and overall untrusting of what this hobby has provided me. But without this, I am nothing. Without Faun, my drive is lost.
All I have to say is: I'm not ready to put up the proverbial fursuit head yet. You will have to pry it from my cold, dead paws. You will have to skin the faux fur from me. Faun Overme is forever. She was made to be forever. I will pump blood through this by any means, but the hurt that I feel is simply immeasurable.
When I think of furry nowadays, I think of how I've been treated. Since my soft return, I've been greeted by some of the few graces who keep me threaded to this hobby instead of forgetting it and allowing Faun to rot to death & all I have with her. For this, I am very grateful. However, every time I lift my pencil or look at my Toyhouse, I am met with a deep, hollowing sense of dread that nearly pushes me to tears.
I think of all the friends I've lost. All of their stolen concepts. All of their stolen art. How they've been taken advantage of. How this all happened to me too. How my characters were bought out from under me in a vulnerable time even when I had rejected the sale. How people cared more about the OCs I had than my humanity and how these things would affect me forever.... How everything I thought furries found sacred, like honesty, friendship, intellectual property rights, etc. were true amongst some, but a smokescreen used by others at pick and choosing moments to further their agenda.
To put it simply, I'm paralyzed by the fear. I know I have always had the talent and know how to be pivotal or helpful to the longevity of this hobby for all, I mean who else can say their family made them a furry? Who else can say they grew up waiting for the AnthroCon parade? Few, from what I've seen.
This is my home, but it has been ransacked. Now, I'm struggling to take the bricks down from the wall that I felt compelled to place in response. The final straws were long beyond snapped and I ran on fumes, all I had was a wall of silence to protect me.
Another simply put, I have never related to the deer more than I do now. I'm flighty, nervous, and overall untrusting of what this hobby has provided me. But without this, I am nothing. Without Faun, my drive is lost.
All I have to say is: I'm not ready to put up the proverbial fursuit head yet. You will have to pry it from my cold, dead paws. You will have to skin the faux fur from me. Faun Overme is forever. She was made to be forever. I will pump blood through this by any means, but the hurt that I feel is simply immeasurable.
