this was long overdue. plain text below
Hello. If you’re reading this, I am coming out to discuss a part of my life that I’ve hidden for a very long time–mostly out of fear and shame. I’m still afraid–but I will not be ashamed any longer. It’s so typical to say, “I didn’t want to make this statement,” but it’s gotten to the point where my loved ones are telling me that I have to do something. That silence will only cause further harm.
Over the past four and a half years, I’ve endured an endless nightmare of abuse, stalking, and the resulting psychological trauma from a previous romantic partner. To many of you, this is probably a blindside–but the people close to me have witnessed the effects the whole time.
I’m not going to name the person who abused me today, because the last thing they need is harassment–no matter how vile you find their actions. I didn’t want to do this, but it’s gotten to a point where it feels necessary, for several reasons:
The very real emotional harm of repressing my story for several years
The harm that the stalking and harassment have caused me and others
To, hopefully, show other survivors of sexual abuse, gaslighting, and stalking that they are not alone, they are not monsters, they are not crazy.
This is my story. TW emotional and sexual abuse, gaslighting, stalking.
In 2019, when I was 18 years old, I entered my first serious romantic relationship–and it was an extremely traumatic and abusive one. I’m not going to pretend I was a saint–I said and did a lot of stupid, hurtful things, on account of being a very inexperienced teenager, but I can also acknowledge now that I was abused.
This person isolated me by trying to convince me my family was abusive and dangerous; additionally, whenever I tried to bring over my friends, they’d make me feel guilty, talking about how being around people I cared about was physically painful for them.
And they assaulted me. Multiple times. They’d force themself on me when I was visibly distressed, and I once had to go to a doctor because of injuries they’d caused me. I don’t want to provide further details here, and I hope you don’t expect them. I have spent years replaying some of the most painful memories of my life in my head, and that already hurts enough.
While dating this person, my mind suffered: I fell into psychosis, I had severe OCD attacks, I developed disordered eating… I was overall severely unwell. This caused me to lash out in ways I acknowledge were unfair and harmful, but this person continued to exacerbate my symptoms regardless, much of it through ableist acts that targeted these symptoms.
As mentioned, I struggle with OCD, and this person would say things that triggered it, even after I told them they were triggers–for example, I’d be worried about bad things happening to them, such as illness, and they’d repeatedly say they’d be “lucky” to reach age 65 without dying. They’d hear about my religious obsessions (which during the abuse became full-on delusions due to mental duress), and play music they wrote about their own religious delusions. They claimed to be “worried” for me after the worst of the episode ended, so there’s no way they didn’t know what I was going through. They also scrutinized my very real fear responses, accusing me of being “happy” when strange men harassed us for being a visibly queer couple.
In 2020, at age 19, I recognized that this relationship was doing more harm than good. I was out of town for a family event and able to talk to my family without them around, which helped me come to that revelation. I told my partner I wanted to talk about our relationship when I came home. They immediately publicly accused me of abusing them. This is where it all began: I tried to leave, and they retaliated.
They’d gaslit me into thinking I was a terrible person for months, and this public explosion made me completely break down. I became hysterical–I replayed traumatic memories over and over, looking for any sign I misbehaved, and even when I came up with none, I remained dominated by fear–that it was somehow true, that I was abusive, that everyone would believe it, true or not.
Worse, I believe people took screenshots of me venting to others in this incredibly vulnerable state and somehow sent them to my ex. At this time, I was in a strange city, spiralling out of control–I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, and I was completely detached from reality. I simultaneously believed everything and knew it was wrong. Until you’ve been in this kind of situation, I feel like it’s impossible to understand.
I’ll own that I broke down and said some terrible things, ranging from spiteful to nonsensical. I am deeply sorry for it. I have spent years bettering myself on so many fronts to ensure I never have that kind of harmful episode again, but this outburst happened because of months of gaslighting and abuse, because the second I implied to this person that I wanted to end our relationship, they retaliated by dealing a massive blow to my already fragile mental state and trying to ruin my life.
And they haven’t stopped.
I am 23 years old now. There is nothing I want more than to leave this trauma behind, but recovery hasn’t been easy because the person who inflicted this pain has not left me alone. Since 2020 and as recently as this year, they’ve followed me and come after my career and relationships, usually by spreading misinformation about me in the form of “warnings” that I am “dangerous”–albeit with minimal success. I can think of exactly two times they lost me gigs–though the fact it’s happened at all is part of what moved me to come forward.
This is in no small part because of the simple fact that their allegations range from exaggerations to outright lies. I’d say about 80% of it is false, 15% is technically true but out of context or a product of serious mental duress, and 5% is actually true.
Some of the lies are comical, with how easily disproven they are. There’s one where my ex randomly declared I live in a gated community… but I don’t. My house has a gate because we used to own dogs. There’s also the implication I was stalking them–it seems more like the other way around, with the way that they hunt down people who associate with me. I also remember once hearing I’d harmed an ex-girlfriend of mine with osteoarthritis… despite never dating anyone with osteoarthritis. Still, people who don’t know me might believe these things, as ridiculous as they are.
Some of the lies may be based on genuine misunderstandings. For example, against my wishes, a relative called the police on my behalf when someone harassed me with a burner account that referenced my legal name. I will apologize for not trying harder to de-escalate the situation–I knew police were more than capable of making the situation worse–but I was not the instigator (as well as barely coherent at that point due to the stress).
Some of the lies, though, are downright disgusting. I resent, for example, the implication that I have lied about my ethnicity. I identify as white, but my grandmother is mixed Metis and I inherited her status long before I knew what that meant–though again, I identify and move through the world as a white person. It came up a few times in our relationship because I figured my grandmother would be able to help my ex-partner with accessing their own Indigenous status, if memory serves. But I digress.
Additionally, the idea that I ever did anything without the explicit consent of this person is reprehensible–every single time we were intimate, I received either a verbal affirmative or some nonverbal gesture of consent such as leaning in for a kiss. Every. Single. Time.
I won’t pretend it’s impossible I hurt them, but not in the way they are claiming. I apologize for any pain caused, and I mean that, but the scenes they describe simply did not happen. They tried to convince me they did, that I did terrible things, but I’ve forced myself to relive my time with them enough that I know I’m not the person they say I am.
And for that 20% of things that are even a little bit true, I’ve been working on accountability and educating myself on everything I can–my emotional regulation issues and the thoughtless, harmful statements they brought about, for example, and handling my OCD better so my intrusive thoughts don’t hurt others as much as they hurt me.
And yes, I read about consent. That’s how I realized that what my ex did to me was assault. It’s another part of why I’m coming forward–it’s a special kind of pain, coming to terms with the fact you were raped while a bunch of strangers think your rapist is the victim.
I’ve written out several versions of this statement, some almost forty pages long. They contain the paper trail of sexual abuse counsellors I’ve seen, medical records from when my ex’s actions sent me to the clinic, and even years-old journal entries and conversations with friends where I discuss being assaulted in terrible, triggering detail. I still keep these things as reminders that what I experienced was real, because my worst fear is not being believed.
I can’t reiterate this enough: I physically cannot get rid of graphic records of my assault because I’m scared of not being believed. I have spent years retraumatizing myself because of what my rapist has put me through.
I’ve also spoken to other people who escaped abuse and were villainized by ex-partners, and I’m harrowed by how much of my own story I see in theirs. You really begin to question your reality, and you keep going back to these dark places and painful memories–and you analyze them, and recount them over and over, always recounting and documenting, so you remember them and believe yourself.
I know “gaslighting” has become a meaningless buzzword to many, but it’s gaslighting that caused me to obsessively document and remember my abuse. No survivor should have to endure this. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
People watched me fall apart in real time. They might not have known the details, but they knew something very, very bad happened to me. I apologize to everyone who saw me in this state–I imagine it was upsetting. I’ve spent the last few years working very hard to recover and become a positive presence in the lives of others, and I really hope I’ve accomplished that.
Allegedly my ex is receiving therapy for what I “did” to them. That’s great. I wasn’t perfect–and even though I didn’t actually do a vast majority of what they accuse me of, I see no reason why my ex shouldn’t get help if they’re hurting.
Again, they consented to everything we did, either verbally or by initiating physical intimacy (i.e. kissing). I can’t say it’s impossible they were hurt, though, because people can be harmed by consensual interactions. I would know–I’ve been that person who was seriously hurt even though nobody actually did anything wrong. Trauma’s complicated like that, and sometimes there’s no perpetrator in the traditional sense.
My abuser is a person with a lot of pain–and was long before they met me. If therapy keeps them from hurting another person how they hurt me, then that’s an inherently good thing. I used to hope they’d never touch anyone again, but maybe therapy means they won’t hurt the next person they pursue.
That said–they still assaulted me, and they are still, to my knowledge, stalking me and spreading false information.
Honestly, I’m tired of them having such a major role in my life–and the idea of taking that power from them is part of what’s given me the courage to do this.
On the off-chance they read these words, I’m going to be succinct: I know what you put me through. Don’t waste your time objecting or trying to tell me it was my fault. This is my story, not yours, and you’re the one person whose belief I don’t need. You raped me. You are a rapist. People saw what your abuse did to me. A body of evidence like this doesn’t come out of nowhere. I didn’t spontaneously develop PTSD. You did this.
And even now, I’m sparing you–I could say who you are, contact people you work with. I could do what you tried to do to me, but it’d actually be true: I could share my medical records, diary entries, and testimonials from those who saw what this did to me.
But I’m not. I’m giving you the chance to just leave me alone and be left alone.
So, where does this leave us? I suppose it leaves me out in the open as a survivor of sexual assault, stalking, gaslighting, and so on.
That is unbelievably terrifying. I keep telling myself that it’s worth it to be open, that maybe it’ll make other survivors feel less alone, but I’m afraid.
I’m afraid people will make assumptions, victim-blame me, or somehow side with my rapist. I’m afraid this will change how friends, family, and acquaintances see me. I’m afraid of how my abuser could retaliate. I’m afraid that my community, the art scene that was so invaluable to my recovery, might not want anything to do with me anymore.
Also, I’ve already gotten serious backlash as a survivor.
So-called leftist/inclusive spaces have sided with my rapist. They’ve said they can’t work with me because of what they’ve “heard,” and when I tell them about the abuse/stalking and offer to show them evidence, including that paper trail of therapists and medical documents, they respond that they “lack the resources” to look at them and shut me down.
I tell people I’m a rape victim, and they say they don’t have the “resources” to listen. They side with the person I’m telling them is a rapist.
What happened to “believe victims?” Is that only on a first-come, first-serve basis?
I’ve also had to end personal relationships because of the victim-blaming I’ve endured. Former friends have said I “did this to myself.” People who I’d confided in, people who’d believed me, who’d seen evidence of my assault, said this.
So, no, I really don’t want to come out as a survivor.
This has been an unending nightmare for, more or less, my entire adult life. I am hoping that opening up will allow me to start recovery in earnest.
My therapists over the years all agree I have PTSD–my doctor says it might even be C-PTSD. Regardless, I’m affected by this disorder every day: the nightmares, the emotional dysregulation, the constant sense I’m being watched, the lasting intrusive thoughts from my headspace in 2019, and so much more–it hurts beyond words. I’ll never know the person I would’ve been if I hadn’t been assaulted, and I mourn that every day. This trauma has cost me so much, especially in my personal life–not because anyone involved ever believed my ex, nobody who knows me ever has, but because my trauma has given me lasting trust issues, paranoia, and all these other symptoms that hinder relationships.
I quite literally owe my life to those who have stayed with me and loved me throughout the years, and the treatment I have received. Especially those who have endured harassment from my abuser, because yes, that’s happened.
I hope that by publicly addressing this, I can be supported by all of you, too. It’s been physically painful sharing this story–it literally took me months to write this–so I really hope it wasn’t for nothing. I hope the community I’ve found solace in can have my back when it really matters.
I don’t like asking for much from people, but I can’t make myself feel safe and believed alone. If you could share this story, that’d truly mean the world–and if you see my ex’s so-called “warning,” please report it. If you hear people sharing my abuser’s allegations, chime in with the truth. Quash rumours. I don’t know how many people my abuser’s reached, or how loud they’ve been shouting these past few years, but I hope we can be louder.
If you have questions, I can try to answer them–whether you have concerns that I can debunk, or have experienced something similar and want to hear from someone who understands.
It’s frightening to share this now, but I hope that in the future, this can be a story of a survivor being supported by their community, and escaping the spectres of their abuse.
I hope I can make and share my art without being afraid again. I hope I can be known as a survivor. I hope I can be believed.
All I ever wanted was to be believed. Thank you.