#i have a lot of thoughts about terfs i wrote them down somewhere at some point but really theyre just misogyny all the way down

[doomdoomofdoom]

Every now and again I wonder if maybe all trans people face roughly the same amount of bigotry and one just gets more attention, but then i have to read terf posts and.

wow.

obviously every group of trans identities faces their own struggles and unique oppression but there's this incredibly vitriolic kind of hatred reserved for transfems and its sickening.

[painfullymeta]

I wrote this in June of '22 on the tweeters

and I'm going to rescue it because of reasons. The fact it was originally on the tweeters is why the syntax is what it is.

Me and queerness, as inextricable from theology, autism, and occasionally having throw-down arguments with people online:

(Please keep in mind that neurodivergent folks are known for being fucking unable to manage a linear narrative. This isn’t tidy. Life isn’t tidy. Making life look tidy when it isn't is super weird.)

My first Pride, I thought I was straight and cis. (I knew I was acespec but had never encountered terms.)

I was doing a study abroad in London and was invited to Brighton Pride by some friends from alt.polyamory. [waves]

It was unspeakably beautiful. A bright sunny day in a park filled with people who were, at least in that moment, free and unafraid. I wanted to be like that.

I didn’t even know what I was afraid of and I wanted that.

So there’s me, sharing a picnic blanket with a glorious tangled heap of bisexuals, one trans guy who seemed even more shy than me, and the femmest straight guy I’ve ever met, awkward, unknowingly autistic, and basking in this sense of a community that I was not part of.

I saw someone commenting in a discussion thread recently that she’d (just checked pronouns) felt the most welcome at Pride when she thought she was straight, and remembering Brighton makes me wonder.

My second Pride, I still thought I was straight and cis. I was helping staff a local polyamory booth, with a water bottle with a splash of vinegar in it because I am bad at hydration, and it wasn’t magical like Brighton. I don’t know why. It was still good.

Sometimes things are only magical the first time, mind, or magical like that: once you know the Mystery it’s hard to capture the thrill of learning the Mystery. It could’ve been that.

Time passed. I had a lot of ace arguments on usenet, with various people in predictable roles. (“All human interaction is fundamentally erotic, if you don’t perceive that in others, you’re dehumanizing them!” “Have you tried casual sex to get over this problem of yours?”)

I did manage to get somewhere by the point that I could articulate that just because someone is attractive to look at doesn’t mean anything more than “They’d make a nice wall hanging.”

(Years later I learned “demi”, in the context of people mocking it as worthless claptrap.)

Eventually my arguing on the internet migrated to the fringes of the feminist blogosphere, where I learned a lot about TERFs, SWERFs, and KERFs, who made me very tired.

And got me seriously gnawing on questions of identity.

(Thing I didn’t - couldn’t - talk about when it was going around the tweeters, how fucking devastating the Tiller murder was when heavily pregnant with Oldest. Knowing what that man did to balm the wounds of people who were suffering unbelievable pain.)

(Still not really capable of talking about it. I blogged it at the time.)

(He was the one who cared enough to make sure they could have a funeral.)

(Fuck.)

Anyway.

There’s a lot of intensely eggy flailing in that blog, in between snarking at the various flavors of ERF. Processing the massive dysphoria of pregnancy. Wondering if issues with gender were distinct from other forms of ‘I can’t figure out how this social shit works’.

Those people were exhausting, so full of furious categorization. Women Are And Must Be Like This. The Mysteries Of Shared Girlhood. That lot didn’t go in for a lot of The Spiritual Experience Of Menstruation but gods know as a pagan I didn’t need a supplement.

When I talked shared girlhood experiences through the person I had the most in common with was a trans woman.

And I can't separate the sexual violence I’ve experienced from being targeted for being autistic.

(That was also a whole thing: “But that abuser might be a socially awkward autistic guy!” “… what about the socially awkward women?” “They shouldn’t be abusing people either har har har.”)

(Thanks. That’s a big help.)

(I’m just gonna sit here trying to take my social cues from people who are ignoring what’s happening to me, because that’s what I gotta do to survive….)

(Masking sucks. Whatever my gender is it is also autistic.)

I came into the blogworld with “geek as gender” in my back pocket and a sort of complex ambivalence about a lot of conversations, as well as a habit of picking Discordian fights with homophobes in alt.sports on usenet. (Which did get me sent highly photoshopped dick pics.)

(Look, dudes, if you’re going to call people “cocksuckers” on the internet I’m absolutely there to ask you why you think that’s an insult if you like receiving oral sex.)

Anyway I came out of the blogworld with enough experience that I occasionally consider lapsing into a massive clickbait rant entitled, “I was transed by the TERFs.”

They defined “a woman is” at me so hard I realized I couldn’t be one.

Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have figured it out without them.

I don’t have a clean, categorizable experience of gender. I simultaneously had an intense spiritual/physical calling to bear children and found the experience at times so horrifyingly dysphoric that leaving the house was literally unmanageable.

A gay man in a Craft training group asked me if I was aware I had a lot of male energy, which I chalked up to my astral/energetic penis. It made my day and I had no idea why. I’m not sure I even believe in “male energy”.

Someone once told me that I was just butch because something and I spent a while going, “Am I butch? Am I fucking butch? I am pretty sure on the butch/femme axis I am definitely multiplied by i, and possibly ???”

When I stopped thinking of myself as female, I started learning about eyeshadow.

Literally never touched the stuff before aside from getting enthusiastically femmed by a friend of my mother’s for senior prom and this one time a Mary Kay lady came to the house.

The thing about cosmetics is when I was a woman I could do it wrong, and being autistic I was just fucking tired of all the things I was doing wrong, socially, so I included me out.

When I stopped trying to be a woman I could have fun.

(Pretty sure I’m not butch.)

(When I did a clothing purge I kept this one blue dress in case I’m ever man enough to wear it again.)

One of the most surreal days of my pandemic life:

Extra-super-epic dissociated from extensive mammography, got back to the car in my mask and Boston Flowers blaseball cap and the parking lot attendant said “You have a good day, sir” as I left.

My Craft training got hung up on a point of theology and focus at one point. My teacher corrected me and suddenly—suddenly I had a beautiful, intimate relationship with one of the gods.

An explicitly transmasc god.

The seeds sleep in the dark until the season of emergence.

There was also the time I was doing some reading on the nephilim and wound up with a visitation from a transmasc angel.

The nephilim gave weapons to humanity, you know. Swords and cosmetics both.

They’re weapons.

Never forget that the makeup palette is a weapon too.

Some people know that in their bones.

(It’s really all about the copper. Copper alloys, copper pigments, hello I’ve tripped over a Hetharu mystery while I’m trying to articulate something about queerness, thanks Mum.)

(Copper connectivity, copper electromagnetic, the attractive-repulsive powerhouse of life.)

I struggle a lot. I still struggle. I know now what I was afraid of that first Pride, that beautiful day in Brighton, and I am not yet free.

I am not yet legible even to myself.

A while back someone was doing a survey of women in public/online gaming spaces, and it made me angry. Not because it was trans-exclusive - it explicitly called out that anyone who was identifying as a woman was welcome to participate.

But I’m not a woman.

There was no space for me to talk about the experience of being perceived without being—of the Vent suddenly falling silent before the raid and someone whispering, “There are *girls* here,” a little too loud–of the rest of it.

Not without betraying myself.

The complexity of the narrative isn’t *there*. I wasn’t “always a man”, or even “always a pretty boy” (I am better with ‘pretty boy’, I don’t know that ‘man’ is what I am.) I’m a middle-aged whatever-I-am with a history and it’s not clean or tidily genderable—and it doesn’t, looking back, produce any “And now, it all makes sense!”

Okay, the autistic thing did that, but the gender thing? No. It’s always been a giant fucking mess. Best I’ve got is “ah, that’s why my attraction to men felt more like a similarity-thing than a difference-thing, I thought it was just that I only fancy geeks.”

I feel like what I have is an experience that exists, that has broader meaning, this complex interaction in which I have Done As Much Female As I Intend To and am now swirling into the arms of a different god, but my culture does not have words for this.

That is the thing that makes me angry, that this sacred queer liminal “I have been here, and that is not where I live, I am in motion, I am other than you expect” feeling is not something for which there are *words*.

There is no ceremony. There is no ritual.

I could make one, but that is just me, it is not the ceremony of the people who are like me.

I am not alone, but I’m also a white person on stolen land and my people mutilated away our spaces for sacred queerness a long time ago.

Things that have been built are not for me. Or… I cannot feel they are for me and whether that’s that I don’t fit or that neurodivergence makes me presume rejection or what, I don’t know.

I have built so much to house my spirit, but souls are a community work, damnit.

I talked to my minister at church a while back about this, awkwardly, not knowing how to articulate it.

I was glad to do so, to feel safe doing so. He retired, though.

Maybe I’ll join the relevant committee. Ha ha UUjoke.

I wind up muttering about wrasse a lot, helplessly, into the void.

Also, unrelated to personal stuff, but because I cannot resist a factoid, some varieties of slime molds have thirteen sexes (when calculated by mitochondrial inheritance). I believe others have more or less.

I need a new binder. I need to figure out hormones and my medical stew. I need to deal with being afraid of transition, because one thing I have neurodivergently learned is that change is extremely high-risk, even if there is a potential of good in it.

I need a nap.

When I was in my early twenties, I was on the pill, as is not uncommon. It fucked me up in many ways, also as not uncommon.

I got a new formulation that fucked me up much less.

It was a high-testosterone version.

What is a man? (A miserable pile of secrets.)

Someday maybe I will know a thing about this.

(Have at you.) /fin

Oh yeah I should add a note that I have a reasonably large pile of queer-affirming and queer-analysis Christian exegesis because, uh.

Well, I didn’t know why I wanted them when I got them.

Funny how that works.

[boilingheart]

cw: suicidal thoughts //

idk how to do a read more on mobile sorry otherwise I'd crop it. I told myself I wouldn't vent about shit like this heavy and personal online anymore but I'm not doing so good and I need to put it somewhere

I'm not very healthy and I'm not very happy. I'm not doing so good mentally. Financially things suck really bad, I've been eating one meal a day for the past 3 months and I can't fall asleep until it's at least 5-6AM. I fixed my sleep schedule last week and it only lasted 2 days. It's almost 9AM that I write this and I haven't slept

My shoulder hurts again and I think it's because I got lazy on physical therapy. I'm scared ill dislocate it again. I hurt my knee at work last week and I hurt it again a few days ago and right now the whole muscle is swollen and sore and tender and I limp when I walk. I'm 24 and I feel so breakable and weak, I have no muscle, I'm too fucking tall, and I feel like any one of my bones are going to pop out of their sockets. I still have to go to work and get my license and do other things but how can I if my shoulder feels so weak? It's recovering from a dislocation still but it feels like it got worse, not to mention my trapezius has been getting pins and needles daily for no reason and no treatment has worked and my doctor doesn't know what's causing it

Somethings wrong with my skin too. I think it's eczema, I hope that's all it is, but it's the worst it's ever been. My whole left arm is completely discolored and dry and itchy and it's starting to spread on more of my body in ways I've never seen. I'm scared it'll get to my face next

I am so so uncomfortable. There's no space in my house. There's 5 of us in one house and we all fucking hate each other and There's 3 animals and there's no food and even if there is I'm too scared to go out there to eat bc my parents sleep in the living room cause there's no space for them anywhere and they fight daily and if I pass by one of them I'll aggro them and get stuck in a 2 hour lecture of some alt right bullshit or terf shit or thinly veiled misogynistic or racist takes I can't stand it

You know that phrase you can lead a horse to water but you can't force it to drink? I'm the horse. And I don't want to drink anything. I know all of my problems. I'm not working on a single project because I have no discipline and no motivation and unmedicated ADHD that's so bad it makes me wanna fucking end it. I have so many things I want to do but no drive. I'm passionate about things but not enough. I'm not going to sleep early I'm not eating or drinking I'm not exercising or doing physical therapy I'm not going for walks and getting sunlight I'm not maintaining myself beyond brushing my teeth every night, and showering when it's time to go to work and doing my job as required. I know everything I'm doing wrong. I know that what I'm doing is making everything worse. I know that I could be making it better for myself. But I dont... care anymore? I shouldn't be scratching my arms but I stopped caring about that I just want relief and I don't care the cost. I stay up late and let myself cause I just want the satisfaction of finishing this video or whatever it is I'm doing. Everything is numb. People will tell me what I need to be doing so I can stop and I'll know they're 100% correct and that I need to listen but I don't. I don't have it in me anymore for some reason. I don't know why it's so hard to just so it. I don't know. I don't know if it's executive dysfunction or depression or disassociation or what.

And thing is. I've told myself years ago I'd never kill myself. Cause like, I have so much I need to do, so much on the line, people I need to take care of, things I want to do, a lot of things to live for. I wrote down a list of things to live for that took up 2 pages, and it helped me a lot. Kept me centered and focused. I am not allowed to die because I have so much on the line. I am not allowed to.

But recently I found myself looking at this list of mine, of thinking about all these things, and... it invokes no emotion in me. I look at my long ass list of reasons to live and it does nothing for me. I don't care about them anymore??? It feels so empty. And I know that's bad. But I feel so detached and removed. I am in constant pain and constant stress and I can't lay on my right shoulder anymore cause it hurts and that sucks cause that's my favorite sleeping position, I'm always hungry and I'm always tired and I wake up at 3-4PM always and I have so many things to do to write to draw to create to record but it's not enough. It's not enough anymore. Nothing is enough. I have no drive or motivation. I don't have anything to look forward to. My goal is to move me and my siblings out of this house next year as an escape because I know this household is so unbelievably horrifically toxic and abusive that it will LITERALLY kill us if we stay here longer so I feel bad and selfish giving up before getting us out of here bc it's up to me to make sure I get us out. But I don't want to perform all this maintenance on myself anymore. I'm too lazy and cowardly to fully kill myself in one go but. I don't want to try anymore. I want to give up. I'm very very alone and I don't have irl friends and I have such a horrible way of communicating with people/friends online that I have. I keep everyone at an arms length I don't know how to be friends or reach out, I don't know how to navigate in a social space if I'm not an authority figure like a mod and that's a whole other pack of problems that comes from my inferiority complex. I don't know. I don't know. I need to say this somewhere and I'm sorry for anyone who's reading this and seeing how heavy and personal it is. I meant to stop doing this shit online already which is why I've been silent so much here but. I can't do this anymore. I'm tired. And I don't know what to do. I need help but I know that I'm the only one who can help myself because I'm the horse and I need to drink but I don't want to. I would rather drown in it. I would rather drown and I don't know what to do. I know it's bad and wrong and unhealthy all of it but I just can't stop I can't stop. I am not okay. I need help and I don't know how to get it. Nothing is accessible out here. I'm a tiger in a cage and I'm going to die here. I'm letting myself rot and decay. I'm going to die here.

[undead-notunreasonable]

So I remember you mentioned that you were bullied at school? So was I and I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently. What is it that happened to you then? Just curious- dw if you don’t wanna say

This is gonna be long... I’m pretty open with what happened to me when I was at school! So, I guess I was dealt the worst hand: ginger, skinny, Deaf. The problem is growing up, I always had a group of friends & would lose them, and honestly that happened to me recently, so I thought it was because of me when in reality it’s because people don’t get that if you’re deaf, your needs & worldview are SO much more different to that of an abled person & abled bodied people just don’t get it.

Primary school: I was part of the ‘popular’ crowd for quite some time & I never felt any different & I thought these group of girls were going to be my best friends forever. As we go older, things started to change, I was being included less & not being invited to much. Parents would tell their kids to not hang around the disabled kid. Literal grown adults. They even would constantly ask my Mum if she was feeding me or if I was ill because I was so small. My poor Mum. One time I stayed round a friends house for a sleepover & bare in mind we’re little kids we’re like 7? I had a teddy bear that I wouldn’t go ANYWHERE without so of course I brought it to the party. One girl spat her gum into my hair. Another hid my hearing aids. Another hid my teddy bear. They didn’t get in trouble but the Mum whose home it was, told me that I hid it & was playing up. Following morning, it was hot as hell so we had a water fight before our parents came to pick us up, but I couldn’t join it because I couldn’t get my hearing aids wet. Though, I did aim the running hose that everyone was using at one of the girls & she burst into tears, I stopped but the others continued. The Mum yet again blamed me. She told my Mum & my Mum was like “No, she wouldn’t have done that if someone said to stop. And she wouldn’t have put gum in her hair, hidden her bear, or hid her hearing aids.” Eventually they got older & they just outed me. Until I met another new girl who was SO tall & people were mean to her about her height, so I became her friend, and we became great friends! Until another new girl came in who was my friend but she didn’t like me much even though I didn’t do anything wrong. She convinced the tall one to abandon me just as we moved onto secondary school. Secondary school: We had like an introductory week at this school where we met all the other kids so we could at least know someone to hang out with. I was lucky, there was a girl I attended gymnastics with & so I spent the day with her but this one teacher put me with another girl who is a little person & the reason she kept putting me & her together was because “Well you both look similar & you’re disabled, so you’ll get on great.” which is SO fucking wrong. We tried to get on with each other but we just didn’t gel. We exchanged hi’s every so often but we later drifted. I managed to get back with the girl from gymnastics but she wasn’t in my class. I didn’t mind, I was looking forward to studying at a big school & I had friends in another class so it’s fine. Eventually the tall girl from primary & I became friends because the girl she went off with kicked her out of their friendship group & we stayed friends for 7 years. But, this was when Harry Potter movies were slowly coming towards their end (I think they’d released their 4th movie?) and so.. of course... being ginger... meant all the boys started calling me Weasley & Ginger Nut. One boy, used to pass me notes & honestly, I didn’t think it was bullying because I thought I’d actually made a friend in class because I get on well with guys, so I would pass insults back. It only later became bullying when that guy told his friends what he’d call me, they’d start throwing stuff at me when the teacher wasn’t looking. I tried to report it but the teacher didn’t care, told me to ignore it. Boys kept harassing me & so I took it to the vice principal. It happened SO often, literally every day for MONTHS no matter how many letters of apologies or detentions etc, that one day I went to her again for help & she just went “Holly, I’m too busy, deal with it yourself.” A new drama teacher came in and she saw that our class was pretty wild and she couldn’t figure out who was causing it. She asked me to take note in classes of everyone who got listed on detention boards & bring it back to her. Deaf people take things LITERALLY and so I LITERALLY wrote down their names as their names went on board. People started to notice & started cornering me & yelling in my face asking me why I was writing their names down. The teacher at the time in that building caught wind of it & asked me calmly why I was doing it. “Mrs Edwards asked me to.” was all I could stay & then later the Drama teacher explained that she meant mentally take note & that she was so sorry for any harm she’d caused. But this didn’t make me a popular person at all. Valentines were always filled with fake ones & pranks. People fake asking me out, even a friend gave me a card that was meant to be from my crush but it was made up. What didn’t help was that I was a big fan of the Twilight movies. Someone spread a rumour near prom that I was the head of Prom committee & that I was making it Twilight themed & this spread like wildfire. People would yell at me on the way to classes & spit at me “No one’s gonna fucking go to Prom if it’s TWILIGHT fucking themed!! You piece of fucking shit!!!” and I’d get messaged on my Facebook & MSM all night about how I’ve ruined everyones prom. I’d yell “Look at the fucking planners list that’s literally everywhere. I’m not even on it. I’m not even going.” and I really didn’t want to go, I wanted to stay in, in my pyjamas because I was so upset. One bully even cornered me before science class & got into my face, just screaming “You fucking ginger emo cunt! No one will ever fucking love you because you’re ginger & deaf!” and tried to shut us all out. I was in a rage & I managed to push open the door enough to kick him so hard in the shin & keep kicking. He never said a bad word to me again. But all my friends were going to prom & I wanted to go with them. So, I did. (And I wowed everyone there, all the bullies couldn’t believe it was me. I had my hair in a curled low bun, smoky eyeshadow, a black velvet bodiced dress, red jewelled choker round my throat, red silk skirt & arrived in an vintage car. It was vampy, it was gothy, but I looked good for the time. I even kissed my crush that night!) but a year down the line & all my girl friends said they didn’t want to be friends with me anymore because I just didn’t do anything. I was a tomboy, I wasn’t into shopping & getting nails done or clubbing. But they started doing things without me & stopped inviting me, stopped even considering me, so I plucked up the courage to ask why, they said I didn’t do anything, I said “Yeah, not the girly stuff but I would’ve loved to have gone to the movies & gone for dinner with you” and my best friend of 7 years said “I never even liked you anyway.” So I had no friends once more. College: I wasn’t so much bullied in college, other than you had you popular people & your dorky people but the friends I’d made of friends invited me to house parties & eventually down the years (what...5?) I found out between that time that they’d had a group chat on Whatsapp that I wasn’t a part of because it was a sex bet group. They would plot & wager who would convince me into bed first because I was the hot friend. I’m.. not hot. I’m okay. But still. They’d had a big bet on me. I found out & I was livid. I yelled at them & they told me I was being childish about it. So I broke away. I kept a few that I knew weren’t on the chat close. I introduced an old school friend to them & well... he was dating four of them, sleeping with them, then telling them he had to be somewhere else but was sleeping with someone else of the quartet. This all got out & EVERYONE fell apart. I felt so guilty because I’d introduced him but someone assured it wasn’t my fault. Adulthood: Then this year, I lost them all because I yelled at one guy who kept treating me like SHIT & I’d told him to back off. Everyone yelled at me, called me childish, and took his side. People who love calling out toxic & abusive behaviour, telling each other to not talk to someone because of this or that. That’s childish. He and I are working things about but it’ll never be the same. The only friend I had left really upset me when we both discussed about going to this little holiday hut I’d found & I got all excited. She knew I’d fallen out with my group of friends so I said “I don’t have anyone I can invite that can join us” and then she said “I know a few from uni who can come” and then booked it but... didn’t book it for me at all. She said “I can’t wait to go next year with my best friends, it’s gonna be so nice to spend a weekend with them” so I broke things off with her. Like, I found the place, we agreed to go together, we got excited, and then... you just dropped me.  So all in all, yeah I’ve been bullied. I don’t have any physical friends anymore, I just have internet friends & I suppose I’m not built for people. I have a few internet friends though, so I’m not entirely alone. But I don’t date for the same reasons, also because of what that one bully said & all the fake Valentines. I’m sorry what happened to you is playing on your mind but honestly, it’s really for the best for you to try & move forward, yes, the memories will be there, but its YOU who decides how you go about your life, how YOU look after yourself, not the past. You are who you are, and you’re wonderful, I’m sure. Except if you’re a terf or a racist but that’s something else.

[wirewitchviolet]

Isolation

You don’t want to read this post, it’s just me wallowing in self-pity.

I’m not presently suicidal. If I were suicidal, I’d be ineligible for a lot of trans related things, and more importantly, I just left the house for the weekend, so my cat is being extra clingy and reminding me how much it would be upset if I ever left and didn’t come back.

I have, however, completely given up any hope of ever being happy, or feeling safe, or having a job, or someone I can trust, or not bringing pain and misery to the people I do care about.

Looking back over the archives of this blog, I see a post from a year and a half ago which oddly enough, I also titled Isolation. Reading back over that, it’s pretty informative about what I’m dealing with tonight, and I’m at a point where I can fill some of those blanks in from that.

There is some guy named Gabe who leads some little clique (sometimes referred to as “the tankies” or “the anime communists”) whose collective hobby is making up ridiculous rumors about trans people, spreading them to people with a weird willingness to tear down “fake progressives,” and continuing to stalk and harass targets for years afterward and targeting anyone else who comes to their defense. Recently someone wrote a nice article explaining that whole mess, and I think, lately, they’re enough of a known quantity it minimizes the harm they can do.

At the time they targeted me, this little group was untouchable. When people talked about them at all, it was always in guarded whispers and vague references with the implication that powerful people defended them, and I was personally urged never to speak about them by Zoe Quinn. At the time that had me particularly horrified about how powerful they apparently were because Zoe wouldn’t say that about any other hate group, and my personal opinion of Zoe was entirely too high for the thought to ever cross my mind that Zoe might be one of the “powerful people” defending them.

I absolutely panicked at the time, partly because the attack itself was quite effective, with hundreds if not thousands of people in my professional and hobby circles hearing some vague third hand account that I was bad news and should be blocked, which is how it always goes with this group. The actual accusations are patently ridiculous in context- someone gets painted as a violent anti-feminist for muttering about TERFs, or islamophobic for saying Trump’s nazi ties concern them more than hypothetical hawkishness from other candidates. In my case, it was some ridiculous story where I’m a racist cop from Brazil using coded phrases to attack some random woman I’d never heard of. Those full versions though get truncated down when they start spreading. “She’s anti-feminist.” “She’s islamophobic.” “She’s racist.” And the rumors are spread amongst people with no close connection to the target, generally.

What mainly concerned me at the time though was Zoe Quinn’s reaction when I found myself getting blackballed left and right and asked for advice. Lots of “I have friends on both sides of this,” and “I don’t want to get involved.” In hindsight, the obvious meaning here is “I don’t want to alienate my troll friends by defending you against their obviously baseless slander” which is pretty inexcusable from the public face of an organization whose mission statement was helping people deal with exactly that sort of attack. From my viewpoint at the time though, it was so much worse. My impression was that there was some version of the absurd rumor floating around about me having it out for some random woman and spearheading attacks on her was so convincing that my most trusted friend and confidant at the time not only believed it, but was too scared of me lashing out to even discuss it.

That lead to me attempting suicide on multiple occasions, particularly as Zoe encouraged more mutual friends not to talk to me, shut me out of my only support network at the time, and made it overtly clear I wasn't entitled to so much as a sympathetic ear when I was later targeted by Jesse Singal and Randi Harper when they came out as deeply transphobic.

I didn't even start to piece together the more mundane version of things until early this year, when my routine private conversations with other people driven to the brink of suicide by mass harassment campaigns showed me how many other people I know were terrified that Zoe had completely cut them off on asking for help dealing with attacks from the same nasty little clique, all of whom had also been downright worshipful of Zoe to the point where Zoe not believing them made them feel like nobody would.

I've finally mostly come to terms with all that. Someone I thought was a really good friend I could always trust wasn't. OK. And a ton of people I've never even talked to think I'm some kind of monster because some creeps spread ridiculous rumors, and people always forget the specifics when they here someone's a bad person but that they heard it tends to stick, so no matter how much those people get exposed discredited it won't matter for their victims. OK. People always say though that these sorts of things help you work out who your real friends are though, because they stick with you. But that isn't true.

Recently I wrote something touching on some of this. I really didn't want to. I was fine with working out who else got hurt the way I did and helping them cope quietly, and not publicly expose any ugliness. But then Zoe went and publicly posted something about hanging out with her super great friend Randi Harper, and a couple dozen people suddenly see the person who gaslit them into suicide attempts by pretending mass harassment campaigns weren't happening and disappearing from their lives, publicly endorsing someone who actively attacked them and took out a damn hit from reddit nazis, so people started saying things about it, and getting discredited, and getting attacked. And since these are all severely marginalized people whose lives were destroyed by all of this, and nobody believes them, I stood up and laid the cards out on some of what I've been carrying around for the last two years. And more people I didn't realize had been hurt like this came out of the woodwork to thank me for letting them know they weren't the only ones suffering like this, so I think that was the right call, but obviously a ton of other people didn't want to learn about this and walked out of my life.

And so did people who already knew all this. In that earlier blog post from a year and a half ago, I mentioned a point when "I was considering suicide, and only two people in the entire world bothered to say anything." One of those two people is someone I was extremely close to. We'd talk about serious dark stuff in their life, we've both talked each other off ledges, they personally witnessed a lot of what left me such a mess, and they were the only person to even attempt to pick up some of the pieces and clear the air about ridicious rumors about me. Less than an hour after I posted that storify, they severed all ties with me, blocking me in everything we'd ever used to talk, all without a single word. Other people who'd heard what I'd been through at the time, just without the names, and offered support, turned on me viciously once they had names. A friend without any onnection to anyone else involved just bowed out of my life because I suddenly didn't seem like someone to be associating with.

Then a professional bigot highlighted the whole thing and spun it as some new ridiculous attack, and more people let me know they hated me, and when I finally thought it was over, I went somewhere public, and ran into people I hadn't talked to, who made it clear they don't like me, and I came home to more sudden wordless blocks, and comments about not being welcome places. It never stops and any time I try to speak up it only ever gets worse. Nobody believes me, even when I can prove I'm telling the truth. It's better for everyone to denounce me than risk hurting the reputation of people who have wronged me I guess, and even at the best of times I don't know if I've ever even really had a fairweather friend. There's people who say consoling things when I'm losing it, but I can count on one hand how many times anyone has ever just spontaneously asked me to come see a movie, or paid me a visit, or introduced to their other friends, or just checked up on me since it had been a while.

And when there is someone who seems to kind of like me, I can't ever trust it, because people I thought were the best friends I'd ever had have stabbed me in the back without a second thought, and my own parents don't even like me. All I really have is this cat who's sitting on my lap licking tears off me, and I don't think there's anything I can do that will ever change that.