It took me years to understand myself. People rejected me at a very young age. Sure I have scars like any other my age, but I’m also differently wired.
When People Disgust Me
Confession of a misanthrope artist, are you ready for it? Let’s dive in! At a young age, I couldn’t stand how people close to me, except for my grandpa, would remove a stain from my face or simply wash my hands. I did not like the contact. As I grew older, I thought it was merely a case of germaphobia.
But, I understood that it wasn’t just the passing of germs and bacteria but the unnecessary touch. I couldn’t process why someone would do that as I would prefer learning and mimicking, so I could do it myself.
A year or so ago, I wrote an article about people that can reveal themselves as toxic in one’s life. It is hard to draw a line between ourselves and others we consider friends. Then this happened to me.
*** UPDATES: After the results of 23andMe I am only 2.9% Native American on my paternal side. Meaning my grandfather’s lineage is solely French and Spaniard resulting in an error that occurred fifty years ago having his family believe they were Mohawk. But, this doesn’t change any of my views on the matter of defending Native American rights. ***
Circles of Hell
I do not enjoy talking about myself or my life. I like to keep my privacy within my house walls and a relatively tight circle of people. It is hard for me to accept what my life became and where I am heading. When blood is thinner than water it hurts my very life.
With that said, and this is where it gets trickier for me. I do not believe in a “higher purpose” or that “everything happens for a reason.” I do not think we are born with a predestined path to follow.
Friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between people. It is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an association. — Wikipedia
Roughly Ten Years Ago
Futuristic friendship comes from the web now.
Not so long ago, we would meet our new friends on the school ground. We would meet some at our work or bookstore, at a coffee shop, and it would be something physical. Now, it changed. Something in us shifted. It’s like reversing, and we must adapt to new types of friendships…or maybe that’s just me?
For introverts, the introduction to chats on the Internet or forums made it easier to express themselves. Don’t get me wrong. I’m one of those! I am not comfortable speaking to people or elaborating vocally on subjects. Social gatherings for me are of minimal importance.
Recently, many social media exercised a purge of their respective platforms. Nobody seems to understand their doing or their reasoning. However, the most significant audience it affects seems to remain the same: the independent and freelance creatives.
The Big Boys
For years now, Facebook went through many facelifts and changes. So many times, I remember going, “What the frack?” and “Okey-dokey.” On my journey to become an author, I created a network of fellow creatives from various fields, as well as editors and small publishers. It stuck with me that often they would say Facebook hurt their business.
We all know that Instagram belongs to Facebook. It is their application to share pictures and videos. An excellent platform for authors, or at least, it was. Then again, they went full-purged on their users. Going through a multiple of “Follow Loop,” I must say that I dropped out from the Instagram wagon. I heard of this purge way too often.
Charles Vane was an English pirate who operated in the Bahamas during the end of the Golden Age of Piracy. Vane was likely born in the Kingdom of England around 1680. — Wikipedia
Pirate Nerd Mostly Captain Vane
I am a huge Age of Piracy nerd. I was always interested in history, but pirates are my favorite subject. Of course, I’m a fan of Pirates of the Caribbean. However, when Black Sails came out, I hesitated because I feared mistakes would show. Yet, Captain Vane noticed me!
When I was younger, I thought that my night terrors were usual. I thought that my overactive imagination was a curse.
I thought I was abnormal and didn’t fit in anywhere. I didn’t know an artist lived with anxiety.
Once Upon A Time
I grew up with my mother and grandparents under the same roof. My mother was an artist, drawing and painting. My grandpa worked at a binding company for publishers. He would bring home many books that had small defaults in the paging, margins or didn’t make the mark. Believe me; we had priceless bookshelves!