I’m tired of being afraid of spaces that should be safe.
This goes for Pride. This goes for school. This goes for the communities I’m in online. This goes for basically every part of my life, to some extent at least.
I’m tired of being afraid and paranoid, of reliving past trauma and abuse when I’m afraid the same shit is going to happen again. I am sick to fucking death of seeing spaces which should be safe, both for me and the people I care about, being rendered unsafe because of my abuser/stalker/ex. I don’t want this to continue, and that’s been my stance since day one. I’m tired of them bringing back the past and refusing to let it go - I’m not that interesting! I kind of suck! Why do you fixate on me, why spend so much energy on it! Go pet a cat, go write a letter to someone you care about, go teach yourself a new skill, go find something better to do than wasting both our time and energy.
To my abuser:
On one hand, I hope you’re not reading this. I hope you’ve moved on and decided to leave me alone, at least in this one small way. I hope you’ve come to understand that us going out wasn’t healthy for either of us, really, and I hope you’ve grown as a person and that you’ve stepped up and changed your behavior.
On the other hand, I know that’s a pipe dream from what I know of you, and I won’t be surprised if you do find this. I’m tired of hearing about you harassing my friends, and I’m tired of you harassing me. I am really, really fucking tired of you publicly insulting me and everything about me, or finding any tiny thing that you can twist into me being Problematic, or telling a version of this story where you retcon me into being the abuser. Fuck that - I never did shit to you. I never went after you, I never harassed you, I have no pattern of behavior that poses a threat to your physical or mental well-being. All the shit I’ve done has either been to protect myself from you, or to cope with the trauma you left me with.
If you’re also tired of this perpetual shitstorm, I am giving you one last chance. I know that I shouldn’t trust you not to throw it back in my face, as you have done so many times before, but I want to be sure that I’ve done my absolute best to be a mature and responsible adult about this.
If you are willing to have a calm and reasonable conversation about this situation with me, you may email me at [email protected] and we can talk.
You have my permission to contact me through this email address only, and only for having the aforementioned calm and reasonable conversation.
You do not have my permission to contact me here on Tumblr or anywhere else, or to contact [email protected] for any other purposes.
gotta love seeing them post about “2015 was such an embarrassing year for me yikes” like,,,,, ex fucking scuse me
abusing another human being? emotional abuse, continued harassment, what legally counts as cyberstalking, literally stealing every aspect of my identity and then shaming me for it, literally fucking driving me to a mental breakdown and making me want to kill myself?
fuck you, you don’t get to brush that off as embarrassing. 2015 was the year where you caused deliberate and repeated harm to the victim of your abuse when they stopped putting up with you and your bullshit.
no it’s not because you have [insert disorder here]. abuse is not caused by [insert disorder here], and you using that BULLSHIT excuse casts a shadow on a lot of lovely people who do not deserve you calling them abusers. you were abusive, ableist, and selfish to the point of denying another person’s basic rights. I have been left with permanent trauma because of the shit you pulled, and it’s on such a large scale that I’m still realizing how your abuse is affecting how I interact with the world and other people.
You do not get to continue to harass me. I am not the person you thought I was. You can have that figment of your imagination and you can have the memories you’ve warped to fit your delusion of being the Real Victim Here (because that’s not a common abuse tactic at all). You cannot have access to me anymore. The most you’ll ever get are these posts, and if you actually read them, guess what? You can’t do shit about what I’m saying. I didn’t mention you by name, I didn’t tag you in it, I didn’t send you a link; you found it completely on your own. If you’re reading this, a) you’re a fucker, b) go fuck yourself, c) oh wait you just did by trying to prolong my exposure to you.
There is literally one person other than me who goes through all my pages, all my posts, looks at my readmores when they’re going through my blog. Nobody else feels the need to invade my personal space that much, even people who I’m really close friends with. Re-evaluate your fucking self
if I do my eyeliner really well, it’s because I’m a goddamn artist and I work literally every day to improve my art, and therefore I can draw clean lines and make both my eyes look even. it isn’t because of the brand of fucking eyeliner I use! what the fuck! thanks for devaluing my skill and giving all the credit to my tools! literally never had an education on what makeup is or how to use it, I’m just drawing on my damn face and hoping I get it right. plus it sets off every fuckening one of my sensory issues, don’t you dare criticize me for not wearing it more.
you’re not autistic. you are literally not autistic or on the spectrum at all, you had no frame of reference for my experiences and did the “oh that happens to me too!” thing that neurotypical people do to mentally ill ppl. and then because you decided I was the cool new thing, you started claiming that the few fitting symptoms you had somehow merited a self-diagnosis, then claimed you had it professionally diagnosed even though there’s no way you could have gotten a dx that fast - not even with all your parents’ cash.
(and by the way - if you were so broke because you got - and I quote - “literally no money from [your] parents,” how the fuck did you keep getting new earbuds, headphones, technology like phones and computers, clothing, makeup, coffee, food? you had no job and you weren’t doing anything that would have gotten you free samples. were you mooching off of friends like me? you said before that you’d often trick or coerce your parents into getting you things because you hated them so much for being bad parents; from what information I have, they’re just rich, distant, bad at listening, and reluctant to accommodate weirdness, not actually abusive. my best guess is that the $0 from parents was a complete lie, and that you kept mooching off of friends anyway because you had no idea what it was like to actually be broke and have to earn your own spending money. I have friends who have no income; their lives and their monetary habits do not match what yours were when I knew you, not in the slightest.)
you keep pulling self-diagnoses out of your ass without understanding shit about the disorders involved, other than your ableist psych-major attitude of entitlement to decide what is and isn’t mental illness, and then you claim that yes the Real Doctors validated your shit. way to shit on self diagnosis. way to shit on people with those actual disorders. and then you try to use that to talk over other mentally ill people? you use your fake-ass shit to try to tell other people what they can & can’t experience, what the fuck? and you use it to abuse people, as if your anxiety, your mental health, or your abuse of them is somehow their responsibility?
and you blame it on bpd. it’s not the bpd, it’s just you, being an asshole.
sure, you have anxiety; you don’t get to blame your anxiety on someone else or hold it over their head like a threat if they won’t do what you tell them. you either leave the situation, or you ask the people involved to stop and not do that again.
separation anxiety is a thing and it’s a hell of a thing, but you don’t get to pull shit and blame it on separation anxiety when you’re just mad that your emotional crutch and abuse-toy is no longer putting up with your shit. you want someone to help with your separation anxiety? ask them to accommodate it, don’t blame your problems on them when they fuck up because they had no knowledge of the problem.
being manipulative is also not the same as being abusive; this is like how helping someone do something they’re incapable of doing themselves is legitimate help, but if they’re capable of doing it themselves, you’re being codependent.
if you’re prone to acting in a manipulative way because of your disorder, this does not entitle you to hurt other people. shocker!
you’re allowed to have needs, you’re allowed to find a way to fill those needs in whatever way you choose, but you are not allowed to hurt another person in order to fill your own needs. especially not when it’s an everyday situation with someone you supposedly love. mental illness of any sort is not a get-out-of-jail card for being an abuser, what the fuck. way to shit on people with bpd who are loyal, loving, incredible people and not abusers.
you also don’t get to pull the victim card.
I’ve been trying to get away from you and your bullshit for over a year; I was making plans to break up with you at the end of term even before shit went down, because I wasn’t happy anymore and I damn well knew it. you never listened when I had something important to say, you blew me off when I tried to bring up shit that needed fixing between us; you don’t get to say you were “really just listening but didn’t look like it” because that’s what I’ve done my entire fucking life and I know what it goddamn looks like. when I told you that your reaction was inappropriate and caused me significant distress, and asked for some kind of plan and assurance to make sure it would not happen again, you blew me off yet again, so I called it off. you realized I was serious, and freaked out - with me gone, you had one less person willing to put up with your bullshit, what a tragedy. so you decided to harass me. you kept texting me at the speed of light, you kept blaming me for your emotions and your anxiety, you blamed me for your awful initial reaction, you blamed me for literally everything and tried to pretend it was an apology. fuck you.
and when you realized that wasn’t working, you kept trawling my blog to see what I was doing, and you copied it. you copied my gender, you copied my sexuality and orientation, you copied my personal style, you copied my interests, you even fucking tried to copy my hair. you took the url I used to try to get away from you, claimed it was originally your idea (what? no), and when I left it because it was frankly shitty and not worth keeping, you used it on like all your other social media. when you’d copied all the shit I did, you started finding every reason why my entire identity was invalid and why I was a bad horrible person. you didn’t get much legitimate evidence for that, but I was having breakdowns several times a week - sometimes several times a day - because of that shit. you fucking stole my entire being, wore it like an undersized leotard, and claimed I never had a right to it in the first place. I still get nauseous thinking I might run into you, or thinking I might be doing the same things with someone else that you did to me, and that’s something I’ll have to accept and deal with for many years to come.
you’re not autistic; your sensory issues are explained by your adhd, and even though I only have mild autism and associated sensory issues, I would be unable to speak and barely able to communicate for a few days after a concert. your “nonverbal” schtick is a blatant lie (a friend of ours caught you faking). you don’t like eating meat because the taste and texture are gross? if I try to eat tomato soup, cashews, or avocado, I’ll either throw up or be unable to get it down at all; for a long time even the smell of avocados had that effect. whatever the hell else you hit with the darts is explained by the other disorders you actually have. you didn’t - and still don’t - have any idea what I deal with every day.
your supposed “allergies” are a joke. most people will sneeze at strong floral perfumes and any non-smoker will cough if someone’s smoking nearby, that shit’s not designed to go in your lungs. also literally everyone gets a little inflamed bump from a spider bite; spiders are venomous, that’s exactly what their bite is supposed to do.
you’re not ace or aro from what you told me. you told me about a long line of relationships, you told me about having crushes on everyone, you told me many times about how you still talk to all of them (and I wonder now why that is). also, coming out to me in the form of a joke, less than a week after I broke up with you, was an incredibly shitty trick to pull. you made me extremely uncomfortable by implying you wanted to fuck me, even after we had broken up, despite the fact that I clearly and consistently stated that it wasn’t an option.
you literally only got into transformers because I liked it. you refused to read books I recommended because they were sci-fi or fantasy, not realistic fiction. now suddenly you want to get into a franchise that’s literally about an alien race’s civil war, rebuilt government, first contact with earth, and assorted space adventures???? and now somehow you’re the expert and longtime fan? you’re the robot kin? fucker, I’m not even an expert and it’s been one of my special interests since the ninth grade. and now the fandom isn’t safe for me because you sunk your tendrils into it. I can’t make that fandom unsafe for you because I never abused you, and sure it wasn’t that safe to begin with, but at least I could make friends in it.
I guess I’m just throwing this out into the electronic void. I couldn’t get any kind of justice from the police, because they’re not going to take me seriously - I’m a mentally ill LGBT+ teenager being harassed largely via internet, I don’t know what I expected. I don’t have the money for a civil court case because my family is lower-middle class, and even if I did try to take action in the civil court, you’d probably go cry to your parents until they paid some expensive lawyer who was willing to buy your gaslighty “actually-the-victim-all-along” bullshit. As it stands now, I can’t really take any of the legally and societally appropriate options for resolving this, getting some justice for what’s been done to me, and feeling safe to move on... I’m going to post about it on the internet instead and run the risk of you claiming I’m doing the same thing as you, because apparently if you don’t specifically put someone’s name or username in a post, you’re not harassing them because they might not see it.
Everything I’ve done regarding you in the past year has been a measure to keep myself safe against you. Any friend requests sent were required in order to block you. Any posts made about you were my attempt to cope with my spiraling mental health and your deliberate efforts to cause my further decline.
Everything you’ve done regarding me in the past year has been an attack; either a verbal attack of me or my identity, or an attack of my defenses against you. I know you had to go to quite some lengths to get around the blocker I designed on my blog; that’s a clearly deliberate effort to breach my boundaries, even after I told you to leave me alone and reinforced my defense against you.
If you see this post, congratulations, you’re still stalking me - stalking is defined as continued behavior of watching, following, and/or harassing a person against their wishes, generally causing the victim to feel unsafe or threatened. Six out of six, if you make the philosophical leap for the digital age: from “watching and following i.e. outside the home or on excursions” to “watching and following i.e. tracking all activity on social media.” And yeah, you’d been tracking all my activity; I have records of what pages you visited and when, you clicked on a post that was clearly about a death in the family and not about you. That’s exactly what I needed: being monitored by my abuser while I grieved about a dying relative.
@ you (you know who you are) consider the following:
some people wear clothing for its function, not its style
some people have a P.E. class twice a week which requires clothing that’s comfortable and easy to move around in
some people are also on the autism spectrum and dislike wearing clothing that’s uncomfortable or restricts their range of movement
some people on the autism spectrum also enjoy having a lot of pockets
in fact, many people enjoy pockets, especially because it means you can avoid carrying a bag (which is one more thing to forget if you have memory problems, or more weight on a chronic injury)
some people also get uncomfortable with other choices for comfortable and non-restrictive clothing, such as yoga pants, gym shorts, or what-have-you, because they’re uncomfortable showing the skin of their legs or wearing something that’s tightly fitted
and also, consider this:
criticizing an autistic person’s choice to wear clothes that won’t set off their sensory issues is ableist and anti-autistic
criticizing a transgender person’s choice to wear clothes that won’t set off their dysphoria is transphobic
criticizing someone's choice to wear clothes with pockets so their memory issues don't result in them losing all their important shit is also ableist
shut the fuck up about what I put on my body, especially when you know the reasons why
criticizing someone’s style and wardrobe choices for any reason is a risky move, especially for you
There’s a documentary coming out called Can We Take A Joke about how the PC police are stifling comedians. I want to make one called Can You Make A Joke about how shitty comedians feel entitled to laughter just for saying the same boring shit your racist cousin says.
when i was 12 i babysat this girl for a few years and she would come to me and show me her art, drag me by my wrists and point at the pieces she’d made during the week. and she’d be like “do the voice” and i’d put on a sports-announcer olympics-style voice and be like “such form! this level of coloring! why i haven’t seen such perfection in crayola in a long time. and what is this? why jeff, now this is a true risk… it seems she’s made … a monochrome pink canvas…. i haven’t seen this attempted since winter 1932… and i gotta say, jeff, it’s absolutely splendid” and she’d fall back giggling. at the end of every night she’d check with me: “did you really like it?” and i’d say yes and talk about something i noticed and tucked her in.
she was just accepted into 3 major art schools. she wrote me a letter. inside was a picture from when she was younger. monochrome pink.
“thank you,” it said, “to somebody who saw the best in me.”
titsay
prguitarman
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