The past year has been a whirlwind of understanding and accomplishments. I finished Ragdoll #9, and started working on #10. I discovered my Autism. I recovered from autistic burnout. I finally read the book, Understanding the Borderline Mother, and it blew my fucking mind. I started playing the drums, and I’m getting good at it so fast it’s kind of scary. I’ve begun to heal from ancient mental and emotional injuries in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
Indeed, this year has been full of positives, but full of negatives as well. I’ve managed to lose almost every friend I ever thought I had this year. That’s natural when you start getting your shit together, I’m told. But I also lost every fan that Ragdoll ever had, somehow. And that’s what I’d like to address here today.
Ragdoll is my joy, and I refuse to let this world kill it. I’ve said it a million times, but: her creation is ecstasy, and her presentation is agony. I can’t cultivate excitement and joy from sharing something that no one but me cares about. I’ve been beating myself up about getting updates done quickly so I can get Patreon subscribers. Like, if I could prove to you guys that I could get on a steadfast production schedule, then you’d finally show that three dollar gesture that would mean the world to me. I am perfectly capable of updating once a month, but my subconscious mind is sabotaging the effort because it knows better than me most of the time, and especially now.
I’ll post again when number 10 is complete and ready for print.
