Don't worry it's not from art and I'm not "leaving the fandom", that shit never sticks and we all know it. But I bet that title made ya look!

What I am retiring from is unbearably awful people, and I think I know how to do it.

Last week I had just about had it up to here with some e-doofuses that'd been stalking my internet presence (not actual stalking, they're way too big of pussies for that) and anyone who dared talk about me on the hellhole that is Furry-Twitter. I normally ignore 'em but too many people who could've interceded or done something about it over the years had decided to, at best, "think about it" and, at worst, join in. This has been going on for six years and I reached a breaking point. I talked with some close friends about what to do because I felt cornered and "just continuing to abide terrible behavior" was getting old after over half a decade. After some brainstorming we decided I should just write about it publicly but there was a catch: no public shaming. I hate the fucking game of screen cap grab ass that Furry Twitter has become and didn't want to contribute to an online pile on; it's just not something I like doing. So I wrote up a hell of a long journal about a wide series of experiences, double checked it to make sure no one was named, and sent it off into the web.

Then I waited.

I was apprehensive. I don't like talking about myself (it feels masturbatory) and I certainly don't like being treated like I'm a sad puppy in a Sarah Mclachlan scored TV commercial (it feels weird and unnatural). But I did it because I had to do something, continuing to just be treated poorly by people who did not have to be doing so was no longer an option. I outlined specific events that had happened to me over the years that were generally kind of shitty and all sort of tied together to form a journal about people being manipulative, cold, and confusing in their wrath . I worried feedback would be negative and that I was signing myself up for more obnoxious Twitter weirdos and their bizarre need to call people racist at all hours of the day. I worried about their just being more silence (a big theme in the journal). I just generally worried. I get that from my dad.

I really shouldn't have.

Public feedback was outstanding. People were EXTREMELY supportive in the comments section (to the point where I couldn't respond adequately because I have no idea how to respond to authentically nice people, thank you once again Twitter), and that's one of the major reasons I'm writing this: so that I can respond to every single person that wrote me. Even if you messaged me on Telegram or some other service I read every single comment and got weird lumps in my throat that I had to punch a lot to make them go away. That people responded as kindly and in such numbers was AWESOME! It made me feel like this community, my home for the last twelve years, was really my home again; a feeling I wasn't sure I could ever get back. So thank you from the bottom of my tiny, rapidly beating, ferret heart.

That's not everything though; I also asked people who felt uncomfortable talking to me publicly, or felt that they were being mentioned, or even if they thought they'd done me wrong in the past, to message me privately so we could work it out. The years had made me cynical and I didn't think anyone would, and I was fine with that. I didn't forward the journal to anyone I just wanted to let people find it on their own. No one was named and no one seemed interested in naming anyone anyway. I'm also not people's number one priority and I don't expect to be, that's ridiculous (I should be at about number three though, let's be real). So I continued with my normal day to day of going to the dog park, dorking around with Gunpla kits, and painting warrior furry dudes; and it took a few days but some people I hadn't heard from in a long time reached out to me and guess what?

I worked it out with every single person that reached out to me, and we all felt way freakin' better afterwards. Misconceptions were de-misconcepted, timelines filled in, mutual apologies made, and many arms were clasped in brotherly solidarity; it was a beautiful thing. It was almost unreal honestly. After all the years I'd spent being filled with anger and confusion it was just... gone. I just felt ok, literally lighter. Are there still bad guys in the world? Of course, that's the world: it's got heroes, villains, and a LOT of everything in between; and that's ok. I understand all that stuff, this is the world I'm in and it's the world I'm going to die in. I'm ok with all the good and the bad now, it just suddenly makes sense and doesn't upset me anymore. That doesn't mean I'm going to abide the bad, far from it, but I don't think it's going to be getting under my skin as much any more. I think they call that "closure" or some other hippy-talk.

"Under my skin" was the rub of it too. I'm 31, I'm married to my best friend, my other best friends live nearby, my regular-friends are anything but regular (they're an amazingly diverse cast of weirdos that I wouldn't trade for anything other than a ton of money), my job is awesome, I've got a TON of models that need painting, and I've got a highly energetic dog that has perfectly synchronized his schedule to mine because he is insane. Why was I so obsessed with these weird shitty online/convention people? My life is good, I don't want to be around or think about these cartoon e-villains and their dumb social media plots any more.

So I'm not going to.

I just don't have to any more. I was at the park this morning smoking a Rocky Patel cigar, enjoying the breeze, and watching my dog (Ditko) wrestle like a maniac with other dogs. It was nice, really nice. The most relaxed and at ease I'd ever felt. The thought of those events and the people in that journal drifted into my head while I was inking a commission in my portable park chair and... I felt nothing. The people calling me a secret racist, or implying I'm "AltRight", or saying it was good for me to be isolated from people based on lies just didn't bother me. They and their weird fucked up, made up, silly pants problems were just that: silly, and not worth any serious consideration. Now: I'll still of course keep the lines of communication open, I'm pretty good at clearing things up once people decide to be polite and honest, but the ball is in their court. I'm not going out of my way to "prove" myself innocent of their demented charges anymore, they can prove they're not crazy assholes to me instead. If people can't display the smallest amount of professional decorum then why in the world have I been trying to squeeze a drop of humanity out of these emotionless, husk aberrations? It's just not worth it, and I think I had to go through ALL of this to not just see it, but also to feel it; and it feels great.

I talked with my husband today and we both concluded that the previous journal served its purpose: it brought out the best in people and I couldn't have asked for more. So I'm deleting it and moving on. Spiteful grudge holders have already screencapped it I'm sure, and I've got my own .txt copy as well. It served its purpose and I'm moving on. Plus the people I worked things out with don't deserve to have such nasty things written about them, even anonymously. They worked it out like adults dangit! All that stuff I talked about in the journal happened, it was horrible, I got through it, and now I'm over it. I talked with some wonderful people privately whom I'm sorry I've ever doubted: you're all heroes in my mind. That goes to every single person who left me a supportive comment as well, it was a group effort but you made a guy's day, and it looks like his future! Usually internet comments accomplish nothing: but they did for me last week, and YOU my friendly furry internet commented are responsible for that accomplishment!

I can't thank any of you enough for what you've done for me. Hopefully this newfound peace of mind will allow me to be even more productive and, by doing my best work, you will understand the depths of my gratitude in a way my words could never convey.

With smile and optimism restored,

-Bone