Hi. I'm Hookaloof. I wasn't always, but I have been for a while. I'll move this to scraps eventually, but if it's alright, I'm going to ramble about myself and who I am as an artist and just gonna be really cringe for a bit first.

Well, its more than for a bit, it's actually going to be an exceptionally large ramble. You don't have to read it, in fact I SUPER recommend you don't read it, its going to be primarily biographical depicting how I got to where I am and be almost entirely pointless ramble. Some stuff here might make you feel bad (Content warning for mention of death and Sexual Assault), it's not the intention, but it might happen and I've decided I deserve to say my piece. It's my page so you can't stop me, so lets get into it, yeah? Yeah. I think so.

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To open, the thesis statement: I do not like myself. I find it exceptionally difficult to even wrap my head around the concept. I don't think I ever have, and it was usually easy to justify. When I was younger, before I became Hookaloof, I always justified it by my negative qualities. I was lazy, intellectually incurious, but still smug, and arrogant. I made up excuses, usually excuses to justify not changing or growing. In college I tried something for once. I tried to make something, REALLY tried, for the first time, and got exceedingly... Not close, opposite of that. I spent my every last cent and then gave up. The person I gave the money to hates me now, and she hates me because I argued with her wife about whether or not people were allowed to be forgiven even if what they did was really bad. I said it was up to the person doing the forgiving, she said I only felt that way because I was a dumb kid, and that I should try saying that to a sexual assault survivor, that my narrow perspective made me stupid and naïve.

A few years earlier I had been sexually assaulted, of course, but this didn't matter to her. Or even to me at this point. But this stance was emblematic of a problem, a poison growing in my brain that's been with me since I was young. The idea that because I disliked myself, that I was bad, and that I could improve my badness by being in service to others. By living my life for other people. So is every person deserving of forgiveness? Of COURSE they are, if the person doing the forgiving wants to, y'know, do the forgiving, everyone deserves it. And I could be a good person if I could forgive everyone who hurt me, and apologize to everyone who I hurt.

This makes it exceptionally easy for people to hurt you, a lot, with your permission. And then it makes it very hard to tell them "You did something that hurt me" because, y'know... I had allowed it. In some cases I would encourage it. And even now I maintain that wearing a kick me sign and telling people to obey the sign does not give you a right to be mad at them for going the thing you said to do and allowed to happen. But, back on track

When I first became Hookaloof, whatever that was and whatever that meant, it was the second time I'd ever tried anything, and the first time I'd tried drawing. I wasn't very good, but I found a way to make it fun, by drawing for other people. Another service I could perform for others. Another way to become less bad. Doing this, I went from just terrible to pretty decent in about a year's time. Then I started posting online and publicly, people liked my burgeoning style, I had a lot left to learn, but I had found not only something that let me be useful, but that I loved! I could tell funny little jokes and draw silly little creatures all around a fetish I had a history with.

A few years would pass, and I was pretty good at drawing. I'd say at this stage I'm at now I'm still only "Pretty good" but I'm like Pretty Good First Class. But this was when I learned I could do something that other artists seemed to have difficulty with, that being consistent production. It's not a super power or anything, but it's a frequently enough cited issue among artists that I felt special that I had that. I lacked other things, but Hookaloof? Man that guy draws a lot. And the more I drew, the more I could draw. And I liked it, and still do, and will going forward. Drawing a lot was wonderful. And when my life hit speedbumps I didn't have to depend on anyone else, I could draw my way out! And whenever I did a commission, or did a drive, I got better. More productive, more talented, and worked harder.

And then one of the people who had given me money to be in a project of mine had passed away before I finished it. Abruptly. I still remember the dark chill I got when I asked someone "Hey have you heard from this person?" and was met with panic, desperation, "NO, I HAVEN'T, HAVE YOU TALKED TO THEM SINCE THIS POINT!? I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT THEM." and when cold reality set in, suddenly I had obligations. Do I return the money? Refund it to a paypal in a symbolic gesture? Do I post the work, include the character? Do I delete my entire internet presence? And then the inevitable self loathing that comes from considering how put out you are by the DEATH of someone else. How someone losing their life impacts you negatively. In the end I kept the money, but didn't post the character in the project, but I had finished it. It felt immoral to include someone who died before they could consent. Even writing this I think I did the wrong thing. But none of the thing I could have done would have ever been the right choice. Don't speculate about who this was, it isn't something I want to include in the story in specific, it's just part of a growing narrative I'm building. I'll sum it up at the end.

Skip some stuff, some more years, I come to a few key realizations that don't really have concrete stuck in time examples like the above.
-Gender isn't really something I vibe with, I have some thoughts and feelings, but I get to play with a silly deer girl to play with what feels right. Results still inconclusive. I've stopped trying.

-My family situation I left back home is FAR worse without me around, like, I can't go back home again after this year bad. Not a big loss tbh but still.

-I have a bad brain that doesn't focus good, and I have a bad heart that pumps too hard

-I am not as important to my friends as I might have hoped. Several times, on several occasions, I would be neglected from things. Twice in a six month period, I wanted to go to conventions, only to ask my friends and realize all of them were going already. Independently of one another. Without me. And then when I share how this hurt me with one of the few friends who didn't attend... A few months later he tells me "Good news! We got a room for the con!" and I went oh sweet I didn't realize we were doing a con let me schedule time off... Oh, by "We got a room" you meant you, and 3 other people, none of whom were me. I know, boo hoo baby didn't get to go to convention, but it mattered a lot to me. I know that makes me lame.

-I hit a really high number on Twitter and seeing how it didn't make me feel any better (Which I knew it wouldn't) made me completely despondent. I was hopeful in the back of my soul that I would be made happy by a bit number, despite constantly saying it didn't matter, and it doesn't, "Metrics" and "Clout" had not been motivators for SEVERAL years by this point, but I still got sad. And being sad about that made me feel shallow. Shallow for even unconsciously expecting to be made to feel better.

-I have begun to notice some of the things people say to me are not good. People shame me for not uploading my every sketch because what if someone wants to cum to it? People feign concern for my well being while putting in another order for a rock bottom price commission, and I say nothing about the fact that if they ARE concerned, it means less than getting art (Which mirrors my own opinion that my art is more important than my health). I'm shamed for not taking better care of myself, and when I tell people "I don't know how to not work I forgot how" they just shout their favorite hobbies or video games they like at me, as if I can just fix my brain if I play Bug Fables or watch Spy X Family or play bass guitar or volunteer my time at the soup kitchen or learn French or just "Take it easy" or do more quests in some MMO (These are specific examples, but please, if you gave them, do not feel called out. I liked your advice, it was good and helpful and nice). For the first time since my adolescence, I feel completely misunderstood, and can't even get angry because EVERY suggestion given was a good and correct one, its me who is wrong.

-Lastly, I have gotten even better at being productive, and am getting a backlog of work to be posted. But I haven't liked making art in months. Maybe years. I only have a vague recollection of ever having fun with any of this. Now I do it because in my broken brain making silly pornography (And other art NOBODY has seen or will see) is why I was put on this earth. I am fully delusional and manic and beyond the point of thinking rationally.

So, with those things in mind, I approach my final point.

I had reached a critical point this year. My art was made quickly, my style developed to its heretofore highest form, my heart is bad and hospitals are expensive, and I am thoroughly, deeply, exhausted. But I'm not the person who gets exhausted. Hookaloof works hard, that's who I am, Hookaloof is fun and silly, that's who I am, Hookaloof is not as well liked among his peers as he thought, that's unfortunate news for a perpetual people pleaser who treats making others feel good as a supplement to feeling good about himself. So I opened for commissions, because I needed the money. And I took way too much work on. And did it EXCEPTIONALLY quick. I was having to get faster, so I was doing my day job while drawing and doing 1-on-1 streams with clients so they could see and approve my work, I was reaching out, I was doing work on the side, I was agreeing to trades I didn't want to do because it meant someone might be made happy, I was turning down some comms and trades because I couldn't fit more into my schedule, and I was no longer sleeping. Sometimes for days.

I kept this going for months. And kept adding more, and more. And in the meantime I was dealing with people telling me that they were concerned for my well being, but always couching it in "Working too hard". But I wasn't working too hard, I could do more, I knew it. And, truthfully, I was right! The workload wasn't the problem, it was the work I was doing. but it was technically proficient work, the pictures were good, the animations were clean, I wanted to finish them. I had to finish them. I owed it to myself as an artist, as a professional, I had made a promise to the people who commissioned me. But it had become more than that. A promise is just a sign that you will keep your word, but a commission? Its more than a promise, its a promise plus payment, the intersection of my word and my wallet.

So I made my commissions cheaper. Some lucky people didn't get charged at all. I had to keep doing them faster though, what if someone got upset? What if someone got forgotten? What if somebody DIED AGAIN waiting???? This was before I realized it, but I was finally at the end of my rope.

I go home for Christmas. it goes poorly (If you know you know). I come back home, I'm excited to work again, excited to be by myself and relax with... a ton of commissions. All yet to be done. So I did what made sense to me at the time, I sat down, picked up my pen, and completely lost any drive at all. I said that's fine, who needs to want to do art, I'll just take a break! But I was so SO guilty, I had warped in my own head what reality was, what my role as as an artist, and what it meant to take commissions, that the thought of taking a break broke ME. And in that state, I realized, just how silly it all was.

I don't like myself. I still don't. And I liked commissions, a LOT, but nobody is owed my art. If they paid for it I can just refund them. If I told them I would do it, I can change my mind. I can and should sometimes say no to things. Someone who likes themselves is not someone who lives solely to appease others, whose life has merits only so far as they are useful, I wasn't "Born" to be an artist, I became one because it was fun. But working at that pace EVEN IF I COULD DO IT didn't make it something I wanted to do, at least all the time. The projects I loved, the people I cherished, the heart and soul of why I became a stupid cartoon fetish draw-er on the internet, at some point I lost these things. I needed to reclaim them, and I needed to reclaim myself.

And so... I did.

My commissions are closed. I'm finishing a couple ones and a long sequence since they were already paid for, but after that's done, I will not take another one. No requests, no suggestions. I won't even post the art if I don't want to. I might not even keep my account up! What I do with my art is mine to decide. And what I do with my life is valuable even if it produces no tangible benefit for anyone else. I'm starting to realize that. And starting to see the people who support my art as fans, rather than obligations, than burdens. See my friends as those who choose to spend their time willingly. None of the cruel things people said to or about me are true, none of the words I said to myself were ever true, nothing I draw is something someone else deserves. Nobody died waiting for my art to be finished, one person unfortunately passed away while waiting for the next update, but nobody "Died waiting". Ultimately, I move my pen for my own good. I am much more than the sum of my work, and I know there's still joy to be found in a drawing.

I am good. I am a good artist, I am worthy of love, and that starts with loving myself. I can give willingly of myself but nothing I offer is EVER something anyone else deserves. My labor is not owed to anyone, it might sound selfish, but I have lived as a martyr literally on the verge of death still wondering what I can do for others, I know what selflessness looks like, I'm allowed to try the opposite.

And so, if you read all that disjointed rambling, thank you! I hope it helped you to understand what went into making me into who I am now. Who will I become? Who knows! What comes next? Who can say! I have more art I'm working on, but I might just give it all up and throw it away, but it's unlikely. Deep down I truly love to create. I adore the fiction. I won't ever stop loving those things. If you saw yourself mentioned in there, or think you were, sorry! I hold no grudges against anyone, you're all worthy of my forgiveness anyone who has ever wronged me (or more accurately, anyone who I think has wronged me, I can't speak objectively especially coming off a bunch of full blown delusion).

The funniest part of this is, despite the fact I ran myself ragged, worried everyone, nearly died, went broke, and broke my brain... I still find myself asking, how'd I do? How was it, did I make good things, did I help other people? Was I kind and understanding? Was I patient, generous? When I faltered, and GOD knows I faltered, was it understandable? Would my father and mother be proud of what I did? Would they approve of the results, would they understand? Do my friends feel the same? The stranger reading this? The people who hate me, what did you think? The people who looked at this post and saw it as attention bait (not wrong, I guess, I very well could have said nothing or cut it down), what sort of job do you think I did with all this?

But most of all, a question for myself. Not "Hookaloof" even though that's who I am, I'm asking this for me. At the end of all of this, the decade of being Hookaloof, the heartbreak and the mistakes and the regrets and triumphs and learning and fighting and falling down and getting back up again... How'd I do?

Wonderfully, darling.