Entry #11 - identity

2/2/2026

Who are you, Hexaaelia Skye?

For someone and something that presents itself as so put together. It might surprise you that I find myself asking this question of myself a lot. Who are you? What is your purpose? Are you put here for some reason? Are you put here just to watch it all unfold?

I am a dragon. A manadragon specifically. I embody the grace of mana, of nature and of the world. At least that's what my species is supposed to be. Can I find purpose in the role my species lays out for me?

I am a human, at least, it is what the majority sees. What does this mean about me. I am but flesh and bone, distinctly primate in style. This half-truth stirs me inside. Is this all I am, all I could be? All I could ever hope to attain, just another human, just another predatory presence in a place I care so much for? Boiled down to my skin. A sort of beffitting thought, considering all that has befallen as of late.

But there simply, factually, must be more to this than what I'm supposed to be. To be a manadragon is fulfilling, of course. It is part of what I am, who I am. But it is not all of who I am. So then what?

Am I one of technology? Handler of computers and tinker of electronics? Is this my lot, constantly frustrated at Linux for a subsystem not running and at humans for their disrespect of the harnessed force of mana they have surrounded themselves with?

Am I one of fantasy? Constantly creating scenarios and images in my own mind that I know will likely never come to pass. Treating them as if they are as weighty as everything without. I enjoy sharing these moments, as embarassing as they might be for an outside observer. Are these myself? A thousand stories and a vague circly form?

Am I one of draconicity? The symbols and the existences which define myself and my kin? To surround oneself in idols of their own image, to remind myself that this is me. Is this what I am?

Am I one of averice? Constantly wishing that there was more, that I had more, that the others around me had more? Am I simply defined on my wants, no matter how insignifigant and small?

Am I one of Upheval? Constantly filling the role as the one to be fucked over, the next one in line to fall, and doing it again, and again, and again? How many times can one be thrown under the bus until there is no you to be thrown under?

Am I one of pain? Already intended to hurt, to pull the hurt from others and cast it upon herself? Am I one of unfortune? A bad luck charm, or rather a good luck charm, in that I perhaps stave off bad luck from the others I am around? Am I one of fury? The unbridled forces of all that do not have any to speak? Perhaps my adoption of manabeast is more true than I would think?

I think it is possible to be equal parts all of these. It is absurd to me that I have to be, and that I have to continue to be martyred again and again. But things will continue, and things will improve, and things will continue to be terrible, and wonderful, and everywhere in-between. I have solaces. I have the knowledge that a distinct few could never put me out, that there is a pack behind me, though scattered. It is why I am not atomized as I write this. And I will ask the question forevermore, for them. So that we may understand.

Who are you, Hexaaelia Skye?

Entry #10 - Continuance

11/22/25

The sky alight for a single moment.

A streak across the sky.

The moon full.

She's singing again.

It, as always, is wonderful.

Her voice compliments the night as we drive away from one of the most important moments of my life, and perhaps one of the most important moments in hers, as well. Much has happened. Much to parse. Much still to parse, weeks later. It is unknowable.

We talk, between the quiet. Between her voice harmonizing with the music we both enjoy. We speak on our fears. Our hopes. The place we hope to be. What we hope to be to each other, what we hope to be with others. She's so excited for everything. For me to meet the others. For me to find myself in a position of knowing. It's horrifying.

There is so much hope. It hurts.

I understand much more now. Why she comes to this place. The interests she has in these folks. I developed them too in only a few days. Animals who I now love. Who I adore. Who I hope only the best for. Animals who are home. Animals for whom I would fail to not do anything for.

She tells me that I am cared for. That I am loved and that I have something here. I struggle to believe it. I always have. I wish it wasn't true; I wish that I could trust the words that come out of others when they say them. I am not that person, however. I am not that person nor will I ever be that person, if the toxic core of my being is never torn out and replaced. However, to lose my core is to lose me. It is more me than "hexaaelia" is.

It however, makes me think. I have, for so long, sook art as a way to be known. To be remembered. It was the only thing I could do. To shout out in the void in a way that's deemed acceptable, to show everyone what I am, who I am, who I was when I'm gone. It was horrific. I could never do it. It was too much. I am a failure in this regard.

I realize now, that perhaps it does not matter. Perhaps I am okay sometimes being the inspiration, rather than the creator. Sometimes I am okay simply existing, bringing positive into this world. To make you happy. Perhaps it is enough. It is enough. I can be remembered as someone who lifted you up, someone who encouraged you. This is not to say I'm hanging up the artistic towel. If I ever say that, shoot that hexxaelia as she is the imposter, but the pressure is no longer there. I do not need to write the meaning of my life. Nothing is in vain. You know who I am. I have a family who sees me. That is all that matters.

There is fear as well. At work, I had a moment, in the middle of an intrusive thought. I could lose them, we could lose them. It would be pain, more than anything. The same is true for me. Unimaginable fear. I must take care of myself for those who love me, those who care. Those who need me. Because they exist now. I hear from them. They tell me that I'm important. They tell me to take care of myself. I struggle to. How does one take care of themselves? It's impossible. My flesh is built for sacrifice to others, but the moment I go to far, the moment I let myself lose a bit too much, I'll be mourned.

I don't want to do that to you. I don't want to do that to any of you. I love you. More than the words that the english language includes can specify. I am, to a point, yours. I'm beholdent to you, in the best ways. I need to stay here. For you. For me. For your smiles. To see you happy. To play TTPGs with you, to watch you cackle about inane breakcore and video games. To talk about our projects, to feel like home.

What if the others don't like me. What If I'm bunk, a waste, if they see through the brilliant facade I put up to be liked. What will I do? Is there anything I can do, or will I simply languish, relegated to the side in which I can never be more? I believe it. It's so common. What if it's worse?

I fear losing you. A common fear is that one day something awful will happen. We'll lose you. Everything will implode. Things will end up stable of course, there is no destroying this, but your presence will be missed until the day we are gone. Til the day we perhaps can meet again.

I beg for that not to come to pass.

Your purrs, your small little noises. The cute scrungly hair you end up having after pets. That fucking smile when you're around me. I need it until I'm gone. What is being gone?

I'm lost. I don't know what to do at the moment. I write this at the peak of a depression I thought I defeated. What am I doing wrong? Am I doing enough? I have to take your word for it. I'm enough, perhaps. I can't internalize that. I've never been able to internalize the fact that I'm allowed to not exist somewhere for a bit, that I can show up on my schedule. You are so important.

I understand why she comes down here now. As much as the other places, it is home. Many animals. Safety and understanding. A silent sort. How Does One Do This. It is so overwhelming.

Perhaps it will be okay, come time. Perhaps I will be known, come time. Perhaps I will be a comfy presence, rather than the alien invading your home.

Regardless, I imagine your paws in mine. Why are they so cold? I can warm them. Mine are warm, and I will sacrifice my heat to make you more comfortable.

It is all I can do. To many more of these. To much more of this. I hope and pray.

But since I met you.

I Don't want to die no more.

Entry #9 - cloudwatching

8/30/25

I wonder what the ratio is, between the happy moments and the sad ones.

If I could lay out every moment start to finish, how would the positive be compared against the negative? Would I be mostly defined by those moments of joy? Or would the sorrow be the majority? What would it say about me? Would it say anything about me, or is it just data without purpose?

Much has happened in a short time. I have found unabashed joy and indescribable sorrow in extreme proximity. Anxiety, Adoration, desperation and depression. Security and serendipity. The whiplash hurts. But still regardless I think of the positives and smile. A paw in mine. Cool air in my lungs, enough for just a breath.

As I write, the clouds swirl overhead. I watch them with a sort of admiration. A goal never to be reached. It's a sorrowful sensation, to know there's no reaching it. It does, however, always fill my with a peaceful sort of joy. So many happy memories are the small moments I watched the clouds shift between the pain.

Is it true that one defines another? That without pain there would be no solace, and no solace without pain? I am unsure of this. That's a deeply terrifying thought, if you break it down to its core pieces. But it is a useful piece of pragmatism. This too, will pass. The moments you share with those you love, the tears you shed fearing for the little you have left. Soon it will blow away. The memories gone, atomized. The pain a mere scar on the psyche.

It will never stop. But, please. For just a few fleeting moments, just let me have my joy, watching the clouds go by.

Entry #8 - Spiritualism

7/21/25

If you told me, 6 months, a year ago, that I now would be a deeply spiritual creature, I would not believe you.

I have historically hated spiritualism. I still kind of do, the organized stuff, anyway. At best I tolerated it. At worst I had outright scorn for that which decided so many of the nonsensical written rules of our world. If you told me then, that I would believe outside of the this. That I would believe in magic. I would be unsettled.

But now, much is different. I am aware I am a dragon. I am aware of the existence of magic, for it must exist in order for me to. I am deeply spiritual. Asking the questions of the soul rather than the mind. Hell, believing in the soul is new for me. I did not think it truly existed. Now, I must. For it does. Of course it does.

Therianthropy is incredibly interesting. It can be many things to the creatures for whom it describes. For me, it is decidedly a belief system. Tools to understand myself and others. To connect with myself and others. To reach paws out in the dark and feel. To understand all that which must be true in order for all of us to be.

This is the unique thing, I think, about this. It is founded on love, rather than fear. Of course, much organized religion positions itself as foundationally about love. If this were true, why would the stick be there along with the carrot? Love is not about punishment. Love is acceptance. Therianthropic spiritualism is unique for those who believe it. None of us share exactly the same beliefs. But we accept this. We accept each other's. There is room for much belief. Even seemingly conflicting belief. Everything is strange, we are strange. Who's to say it is not everything at once?

I have spent time, and learned of times that those I cared about were touched deeply. Quiet moments. Strange objects of power unseen. Items blessed by Luna. I have yet to see, have yet to feel, except in these quiet moments to myself. I will, however. I do. My wings. My tail. My ears. They are there. I feel them. It is deeply spiritual.

Of course, of course.

Of course it was love that won me over, finally.

Of course.

Entry #7 - Anew

7/19/25

As I write this, I'm staring out the window of a vehicle driven by my best friend, with some of my closest friends in the other seats. We're coming home from a convention, Eufuria in specific. Three of what will likely end up being the best days of my life, underscored by folks I adore and highlighted by a community I suddenly feel a part of. The girl in front of me is singing. It is wonderful.

I've always struggled with community. I'm really bad at understanding it. I worry about being told that I am "doing it wrong". Probably from all the "you're doing it wrong!" in the younger queer and furry communities. I've also had issue with group size. Big groups give me anxiety, many folks at a time, hard to deem when you know someone.

As a result, historically, I have found myself often leaving myself out of larger spaces. Preferring the company of a few, of whom I would often be anxious about expressing myself to. This sucks hard.

Now, I find myself on a precipise. The experiences I've had have left one fundamental afterimage in my mind. That is that this is my place. That I can be this, and I can do this. Much has shifted inside me, reorienting things around new core pieces of myself. That being, my identity as a furry.

It is strange to say that "I did not get it", as someone who has been participating in furry circles for as long as I have. However, I indeed did not get it. As previously stated, it was a tool for expression in small group. This is fine! This of course is fine. Now, I understand it is more. Lots of folks who are at least in some shades, just like me. Enjoying the same things I do, excited about the same things I am. It is a tool to connect. Something that my autistic ass could absolutely use.

This is wonderful. This is a revelation. I feel like I am home. Hello everyone. I'm Hexaaelia, and I'm here to stay.

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