I am a Savage-by my own design

Facing the medical professional, I felt a heat rise in me — not just anger, but grief.
Grief for the years lost.
Grief for the person I could have been if someone had listened earlier.

I am coming off the drugs now — slowly, carefully, but finally.
And as the fog lifts, something has become crystal clear:

I was never mentally ill. I was neurodivergent
Different, wired uniquely, instinctive and intense — but never broken.

Yet for years I was labeled “non-compliant,” “antisocial,” “aggressive.”
I was given a personality disorder diagnosis — something that never matched who I actually was.
I wasn’t supported; I was sedated, controlled, and misunderstood.

They never called me a savage.
I called myself that — because I finally realized it’s who I truly am.

A savage is not violent or cruel.
A savage is untamed, instinctive, natural.
A savage is someone who doesn’t fit inside society’s narrow boxes.
A savage is someone whose spirit refuses to be medicated into silence.

That truth showed itself the same week I went to a Trauma Release Exercise event .
There I was, lying on my back after gentle yoga, breathing slowly.
My hips began to tremble.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
And something deep inside me finally released.

It wasn’t medication numbing me.
It wasn’t a diagnosis defining me.
It was my body remembering itself.

My mind drifted instantly back to childhood in Africa —
barefoot in the bush, wild and loud, sun on my skin, salt in my hair.
Open spaces. Real living. Simple home-cooked meals.
My father was a businessman, not a farmer — but our life was still grounded, connected, natural.

Nature raised me, not screens.

No wonder the modern world felt suffocating.
No wonder the medication crushed my spirit.
No wonder the diagnosis never fit.

Because deep inside me, that neurodivergent, instinctive, creative savage was still alive.

He was just buried under years of labels and expectations.

When I came home from the TRE event, I walked straight into my studio.
No overthinking.
No analyzing.
No fear.

And that’s when I wrote “I Still Believe in Father Christmas.”

After everything — the misunderstanding, the labels, the lost years — I choose truth.
I choose mystery.
I choose faith.
I choose the wildness that was given to me by the Creator.

I honour what was always free:
my breath, my instinct, my plants, my songs.

No prescriptions.
No contracts.
No queues.
No masks.

Just this:

I am neurodivergent.
I am a savage — by my own definition.

Humans aren’t built for flickering screens, artificial light, endless notifications, or digital noise.

We are built for:

• sunlight on skin

• bare hands in soil

• wind, rain, and seasons

• slow rhythms

• real food

• real silence

Screens hijack the brain.

Gardening restores the soul.

Nature fixes what technology breaks.

The savage chooses light wisely.

We seek sunlight at dawn.

We embrace shade when needed.

We reject the artificial flicker that enslaves thought.

Every moment spent outdoors, grounded, moving, breathing, feeling sun and soil — is a rebellion against artificial control.

It is an assertion of life, clarity, and truth.

We do not cower before screens.

We do not surrender to endless stimulation.

We do not accept the narrative that digital noise is inevitable.

We choose reality, intensity, and presence.

Light is liberation.

Not the cold, artificial glare of screens.

Not the manipulation of corporations or powers that seek to fragment attention.

True light — sunlight, firelight, moonlight, the unfiltered spectrum of nature — restores, awakens, and frees.

I will walk under the sun.

I will dig in the soil.

I will see the day.

I will embrace night.

I will think, feel, and create — untamed, unswayed, unbroken.

This is the Manifesto of the Savage – Light.

We are the organisms we were meant to be.

We are the reclaimers of rhythm.

We are awake.