CW: Internalised Bi-phobia

I've had my bi-flag up on my profile over the summer. It's on my handle on Mastodon. Which gives me a mild bit of discomfort whenever that handle is scraped by other systems. I'm not used yet to being out.

But I wish I'd grown up with queer folks around me. I wish there'd been a culture of out folks around me growing up. But I grew up in the UK during Thatcher and during the AIDs epidemic.

In a small city in the North East of Scotland.

This is the reason I'm writing this.

Consent and dissemination

It still feels new, and while the Fediverse is the open web, I still felt a bit of brief fear when the Maven ingest happened to 1.12 million Fediverse posts. I saw my profile name, on a network I had never even heard of, or posted on. The bi flag is on my profile name. With my posts being used to train an AI set. [5]

The brief flare of panic seeing that on Maven wasn't great. Stress flareups when you have Long Covid are not fun.

It may seem odd to fear that information being on the web. We post on the Internet and put flags on our handles. People will see that. Data leaks. But just because I post information on the internet, doesn't mean I consent to my handle and posts being used to train an AI dataset. Or that information scraped. Our data economy isn't based on consent, it is based on how valuable that information is to others. We're objectified. [1], [5]

So not a month after I put up that flag on my handle, I felt violated by Maven. While no one may be looking having that information on a network I had not signed up for was disquieting. A leaking of information to a network I had not heard of. To a group of people who seem antithetical to my ideas of community and identity in that community.

Airing out the closet

One of the reasons why Privacy is important to me is a feeling of control over what information I choose to distribute to other people.

As a child, I had very little control over my life. My parents chose what to tell me about, and could direct my information gathering. They could monitor me. As we get older, we want to control what others know about us and how we explore life. I used to be out of the house as often as I could when I lived with my mother. I needed privacy. I needed time to myself to think.

As a teen, I moved schools and kept parts of myself to myself. I'd been sexually harassed at my previous school at the age of 12. With what teens go through now, I'm glad my generation didn't have Facebook. I chose my mask well of a bookish straight girl, who was a bit weird. Sometimes I was defensively weird with too much information. It worked, the bullies left me alone.

Is this a closet I'm in?

Then one day, in my third year at secondary school, I realised I liked girls and boys. I remember standing in the school corridor, beside the head girl board. There was a girl and a boy who looked slightly similar. One was a friend of mine, and she was feminine, but also reminded me of Brian Molko from Placebo. The boy was a year older and looked similar enough. I wondered if they were related.

Then in that corridor, I realised I was attracted to her. She was a typical 90s girl, pale, with dark hair, and wore Doc Martens to school with a bob. She was quiet but projected a laid-back warmth. I used to joke that she was so laid back that she was horizontal. She was so chill, but not one of the “cool girls”. I liked her, then I really “liked” her. Suddenly that feeling was there. It felt in that moment it had always been there. It would always be there. The crush on the girl stayed, long after I'd dismissed her male doppelganger.

Cue the start of the confusion.

Am I gay now? Is it a phase? Are there others like me? What does it mean?

Is the closet really a thing?

It was the mid-nineties in Aberdeen. Homophobia was vocal. Slurs were openly used in my school. Our Secondary School wasn't really rough. But the rough school and the middle-class school had been combined. We had council estates and middle-class folks. You didn't want to be openly gay. I also didn't want to shrink my non-existent dating pool.

While Madonna was bisexual, it was dismissed as lipstick lesbianism. Ellen had come out and was dating Anne Heche. Then they split up. Cue more accusations of lipstick lesbianism of Heche. For representation, we had famous people. I had no idea who else liked girls. [6], [7], [8]

Growing up in Thatcher's Britain with Section 28 meant our sex education didn't cover this either. Legislation like this meant that it was illegal to do so. It wasn't normalised in our storybooks. I grew up not knowing anything about LGBTQ+ communities. Not in my small town before Aberdeen. Not at my schools. I didn't know this was normal. I was isolated, not knowing this was a valid orientation. I didn't know I was bi, I didn't know I could like both sexes. [9 -13]

Now as I wasn't considered dating material in school as I looked 12, this was not a problem. I was awkward. So nothing really changed.

Except I had a crush on a girl. She was awesome and private. She projected a gentle warmth. I still have a copy of a poem she wrote. It was a silly poem. But it was her. I felt it through me as a truth. I had a crush on her. While still having a crush on another boy.

Normally my crushes came once at a time, in an orderly queue. I'd get over a crush. Have some peace, then I'd develop another one. But my crush on her stayed. The boys got swapped out. The only common factor was I liked them as much as people. They were kind.

So it was there in the background. Do I like girls, or is it just this girl? Is it a phase? I knew I didn't want to tell her. I was already really awkward with my crush on a boy a year earlier. One of my frenemies published a thinly veiled story based on my crush, in the school newspaper. So I knew not to tell anyone.

My crush on the girl stayed quiet. I presented my guy crazy mask to my “friends” at school. I had no frame of reference. [9 -13]

Two years went by. Then my other frenemy decided to out the girl I had a crush on to me. “She's a lesbian”, my frenemy told me. “But don't tell anyone.”

I remember thinking. “Well, I know not to tell you about me.”

Did I talk to my crush about this? No. I didn't know if it was true. Plus if she was a lesbian, was I? Did I want to out myself as a lesbian in secondary school? There was no guarantee that she'd like me back in that way. I didn't want to risk it. I did not want the stigma. Especially since I still liked boys as well.

I felt the violation on her behalf though. Someone's sexuality shouldn't be gossip. Their trust when they choose to tell you that private information is betrayed when you out them. It's still surprising to me when the media decides to out people. There's no public interest in this. It's prurient. [1]

I put it to the background.

Peeking out

I attended University. I was still awkward. But I dressed better, and I gained confidence. I still looked young but I had a student ID now. I was that perfect combination, young-looking but over the age of consent. I went feral.

I fell in love with friends. Guys and girls both. I was careful to keep them as friends. Because I knew I fell hard and fast. I fell for someone who wasn't my friend. I didn't like him that much. But the sex was like catnip. I like sex. But I knew better than to catch feelings during sex.

Even then I did, and it was devastating when he dumped me. Then we got back together. Broke up again and I took a 9-month break from dating.

I got a crush on another girl. She was an ex of his. We met because my city is the biggest fishing village ever. We're all interconnected due to university and the oil industry. I was drawn to her gentleness and warmth. I hit on said girl. I crashed and burned, it was embarrassing. So I never contacted her again. I felt guilty, I made her uncomfortable. I decided to never do that again and pushed my attraction to women as far down as I could.

It was still there, but I pretended it wasn't. I felt I was a chaotic creature in my early twenties. A bit lost. I wanted an anchor.

I didn't even think to check if there was a gay and lesbian society at university. Was I gay? Is being bisexual a thing? Was I just curious? Why look?

I put it to the background. Still chaotic, still a bit feral. I've always trusted my male friendships more than my female ones. I did make some female friends. They were nice and supportive mostly. Part of me preferred the simplicity of my male friendships. I never trusted women-only spaces, I felt discomfort in them.

Some chaos still happened in my group. I broke my don't hit on friends rule. I knew I fell in love far too easily. I didn't need the chaos in my heart. I'd get random flashes of attraction to women. One of whom taught me a reiki hand routine. I still use that routine to this day.

The closet is cosy

I graduated and got an IT job. I ensured I didn't date at work. I gained a reputation at work for being quiet and shy. The folks who knew me outside work found this very funny. I wasn't as feral and chaotic as I used to be.

Then I found my person. We communicate well. But I didn't admit I like women and men. When you think you're in a heterosexual relationship, there's not really the urge to discuss sexuality.

Keep it quiet. Push it to the background.

Back in Aberdeen in 2006, we joined a friend who was helping another friend navigate the Gay scene in Aberdeen. The gay bar was nice. But I never went back. I'm in a hetero-normative relationship, and I thought I might be bisexual. But I had no idea if that was valid or real. Would it be attention-seeking? I was not sure if I'd be welcomed, so I didn't try to join in. I had no frame of reference, I knew nothing about LGBTQ+ yet.

I joined LiveJournal and my communities seemed kinda gay. But bisexuality is written as “exotic”. I wasn't “exotic”, I was still not sure if my feelings were a phase. But the queer fan-fic community was a comfortable space for me.

But no, I was sure I wasn't gay. I put it to the background.

Fast forward to LCA 2020 and the Women and LGBTQ+ Business Breakfast. I've never liked women-only events. I've never felt safe in straight female-only spaces. I've never related to them. I don't trust the kind of women who go to business breakfasts. But I decided to go to this one because I was trying to put myself out there more professionally.

This event was awesome. I met people who weren't straight and seemed comfortable with that. I felt safe in this space. I babbled about it to the organisers of the business breakfast. This switched something on in me.

I meet other bi folks there. This is awesome! It's real! I'm real! Being bisexual is a real thing!

Opening the door

I finally accepted that I am bisexual. I am awkward with both sexes, but I chose my husband because he's my person. He just happens to be a man. When I realised I was attracted to him, it was a bolt of realisation much like that first girl at school. Much like her, he projects warmth. He's kind and curious. He's an anchor, it helps me to hold on. When I came out about my bisexuality he was cool with it. It's just another facet of me.

My husband has a big heart. He shares it so well with friends and family. He shares it for far longer than many people deserve. I never feel lonely with him. I find his capacity for caring boundless. It honestly hurts me, when he hurts. He will literally exhaust himself for others and never ask for anything in return. So of course he accepted it. He loves me. I love him, and I'm very fortunate that I like him as a person as well. We have a friendship.

The only reason why I was able to come out to my husband was because there were tech people like me. Who are open about their bisexuality. It makes a space safer. There's a comfort in knowing you aren't alone in a part of your identity. It lessens the chaos. As a teenager, I do wish that there had been a queer community around me.

It's nice to know in my bones that I am bi. I am attracted to women and men. It's normal. It's not a phase. There's nothing wrong with me.

Frankly, it would be nice to have an official Unicode bi-flag. My mastodon bio has very limited space. But apparently, we're too rare. We don't rate one. Three hearts suck. Give us the flag, please. While you are at it, give other folks their flag as well. Those flags would be a lot more useful than a dodo emoji. [2 – 4]

It's nice that we have famous bisexual folks. However, representation matters in a more local sense, with the people in your immediate communities. When you see others who are around you, who are out, it creates a sense of safety. You can come out. There are other folks like you.

Stepping out

Coming out is a process. It starts by believing that there are others like you. You realise your orientation is valid. That happens when you speak to folks like yourself. You hope that people deserve your trust. I came out to my partner and then when I felt comfy enough I told my father. Funnily enough, my brother already knew, he's a millennial though. He already had friends who are queer. But other members of my family don't know. I needed to be comfortable enough in my identity to feel I could mention it casually. It takes a community to help you feel that comfort. It takes quiet conversations with like-minded folks.

It's bisexual awareness day today. We see a lot of bi-erasure and bi-phobia in our popular culture. Back in June, a famous TERF author went on about women who kiss other women for attention. That kind of attitude kept me in the closet for years. To be honest, it's probably part of the reason I've never trusted straight single-sex spaces, even while hiding in plain sight. I'd already been different growing up being the child of a disabled person. I had no desire to stick out more.

I wish I'd had people in my local community who could be open about their sexuality as a teen. The folks around me presented as straight. Perhaps they were mostly straight, but I had no idea. It might have reduced my emotional chaos in my late teens and early twenties. Perhaps not. But there is a steady feeling in accepting my sexuality. I have an extra anchor now, It's me.

Thank you to the community of folks around me who led the way for me. Being you.

You make it easier for us to feel safe enough to air out that closet, it was stuffy in there.
It's nice to breathe.

[1] https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/jun/14/nobody-should-be-forced-to-come-out-famous-rebel-wilson [2] https://moreprideemojis.com/flags/bisexual.html [3] https://moreprideemojis.com/flags/ [4] https://www.change.org/p/unicode-unicode-google-and-apple-where-is-the-bisexual-flag-emoji [5] https://wedistribute.org/2024/06/maven-mastodon-posts/ [6]https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/a40900987/anne-heche-remembrance/ [7]https://greensboro.com/bisexuality-has-become-more-visible-in-the-90s/article_12a1a17b-65dc-59b2-8873-01e6f2766b8c.html [8]https://www.thepinknews.com/2021/03/01/madonna-sexuality-sex-newsnight-1990-twitter-lgbt/ [9]https://commonslibrary.parliament.uk/research-briefings/cdp-2023-0213/ [10] https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1988/9/section/28 [11]https://www.theguardian.com/politics/homeaffairs/page/0,11026,875944,00.html [12]https://theconversation.com/twenty-years-after-section-28-repeal-lessons-still-need-to-be-learned-from-uks-homophobic-law-210928 [13]https://www.nrscotland.gov.uk/research/learning/features/lgbt-history-month

The “who would you prefer to be trapped in the forest with? Man v Bear” is one of those usual shit-posts that becomes a discussion[1].

The default response for women is “bear”. Partly because we recognize the value of a shit-post. But also because it's a truth.

The accurate answer is “Both can be very dangerous in different ways” or “It depends.”

We grow up learning to fear boys and then men.  

The first time I learned to fear the opposite sex was when I was twelve, in a classroom when the teacher wasn't there.  That fear was continuous for 6 months.

We get reduced to our bodies, and we become an object in a guy's obsession. We grow up learning to navigate power dynamics. We learn diplomacy, to be nice. To not laugh at men. Men fear our anger. If we express it we're called bitches and all bets are off.  

If we go outside the expected norm of soft, sweet women, then we suffer.  We aren't meant to go into the forest like Red Riding Hood. There are wolves and bears. The forest is dark.  

I used to like walking home at night in my quiet city in my early twenties. I'd worked to reclaim my autonomy after being stalked at school and for the first two years of uni. Plus I couldn't afford a taxi.

Sometimes I just needed to get out and just walk. In the deserted granite streets, to find space and peace when my mind was crowded after socializing. I liked walking home at night, navigating the empty streets avoiding people.

The city is our forest. Dark and peaceful.

Our forest has its own predators, and its own dangers.

On the rare times, I went up a busy street, a few times I felt the fear of someone coming up behind me.  Getting my keys ready in my fist, to run. Then the bastard just ruffled my hair as he went past. I kept walking, trying to get my heart rate down. Feeling that fear and anger. Feeling very stupid for taking that risk.

Another time, I walked home from a friend's place. Opposite the street, I heard a man yelling at his girlfriend as he left her flat. I kept walking, and he crossed the road to me. The fear rose up, it engulfed me. I said little, I listened as he talked to me, and then he went up a side street. I'd been polite. Diplomatic, while wondering what would happen. Cursing my poor choice. Knowing that if anything happened, my choice to walk home in the summertime would be judged.

Like I'm a bicycle that wasn't locked. A lone woman out at night is apparently asking for it, even if she's in jeans, Doc Martens and a baggy shirt.

My father told me, “Be sure you want sex if you go to a guy's flat.” Which I tried to follow. I did follow it. I was always sure and in my dating life, I followed that advice.

Sometimes there's no map for the forest.  

Sometimes you're an intern on a work night out and sharing a work taxi gets you propositioned by a man in his forties. Or it's a rainy night, the taxi queue is long and another colleague who's in his forties offers the telephone at his. You're foolish enough at twenty to trust a work colleague. Both times I was fortunate.

Sometimes the predators give you a pass. Sometimes you are stalked in broad daylight for 2 years. Sometimes we're seen as a goal, sometimes we're just there. We're always objectified. We all have experiences like mine and worse.  [2]

I'm so tired. I'm so angry that nothing has changed for folks.

Because privileged men's feelings seem to matter more than our bodily autonomy or our safety. You get defensive and hurt because of a meme. You belittle our knowledge because you are feeling judged. “Does every woman look at me this way? That's not fair.”

Yes, we do look at you, if we don't know you. Sometimes even if we do know you, you assault us or objectify us. It's not you specifically we are judging dude. It's the society that dictates your attitude and the rules we chafe under. We see it in our replies. The need to go ”But I'm not like that.“  

Just stop. Take a moment. You really don't need to reply. You don't need to correct our thinking. We know the bear would eat us.

Men don't seem to want to respect our boundaries[2]. Our survival happens at a whim.

Of course we're going to choose the bear.  

Being mauled to death is quicker than being stalked or worse.

[1]https://www.forbes.com/sites/conormurray/2024/05/03/man-or-bear-many-women-say-theyd-rather-be-stuck-in-the-woods-with-a-bear-in-latest-viral-tiktok-debate/ [2] CW: Harassment, Stalking https://dotart.blog/cobbles/ignoring-boundaries

There's a certain distance that someone with a chronic illness feels from able bodied folk, especially some friends and family. Or sometimes even from people with milder manageable chronic conditions. There's a lack of understanding what a debilitating chronic condition does to your quality of life. That you may need support and you know you aren't going to get it as your folks move on with their own lives.

The distance grows as our isolation grows. We're no longer fun, we haven't the energy. Often we have less money so we don't socialise as often. Although the lack of energy plays into this as well.

We're less fun to be around now.

We have a language we use with each other when we communicate with someone who's ill.

“Get well soon.”

“Hope you recover soon.”

“How are you doing? Are you feeling better?”

It's hard for us when we are able-bodied to truly understand what a chronically ill person means when they say they are ill. It's a permanent condition and they are exhausted.

Being ill is only temporary isn't it? Buck up. “You'll feel better soon.”

The chasm is wide.

The truth is we won't get better.

The distance is massive between myself and friends and family who are not as fatigued as I am. Other than my partner the only people who realise are my father and my brother. Even my father slips up sometimes.

It's language. It's our culture. Our society is based on our usefulness.

Although in his case, I know he's hoping I feel a little better for a while so I can get stuff done. Because being constantly fatigued is draining, it's depressing. Because he had his own Post Viral infection in the 1980s he hopes I recover. It wrecked his life. Which is the last thing he wants for me.

Other folks though. They don't get it.

They don't get why I need them to wear a mask. They don't get why every time they say or write an insincere get well soon message it's like metal scratching down a chalkboard on my psyche.

It comes off to me as passive aggressive. As if I change my ideas and buck up I'll magically feel better.

I'm not going to get better. If I'm lucky I will have more “good days” than “bad days.”

I just had to send a link about spoon theory to a relative.

6 months then you need to recover

My Grandmother once told me about living in our small fisher town after she became a widow with a disabled child.

“Everyone rallies around you at first. They constantly come round and offer you lots of help.”

I remember we were doing dishes as I came to visit for the weekend. It was the last weekend I spent with her. She died the week after.

“But after 6 months, you have to fend for yourself. No one bothers after that. You're expected to cope on your own.”

Which my Grandmother did. At the expense of her mental health, time and energy. She had to cope. No support systems existed for her anymore. No husband, and his family didn't help either.

She was widowed twice.

Out on the fishing boats.

I remember reading once about a widow that had 9 husbands. In the 1800s fishing was even more deadly in the North Sea, the men got carried out to the boats on the backs of their wives. They couldn't get their trousers wet as it was heavy calico. They couldn't afford to catch a cold and die. Doctors were expensive.

The women then climbed up the hill, over the Enzie Braes to Keith to sell their fish. A distance of 9 miles. Those women were tough, and generations of this create a harsh culture where you survive. But there's no time or mental space for comfort.

They lost a husband. Remarry. No time for grief, no time for crying. Survive. Live.

The Buchan Peninsular is a cold windy place. In the winter the cold blows through into your bones. The sea is so cold Aberdonians invented a high calorific bread of suet and salt for the fishing boats that went out further into the North Sea.

https://scottishscran.com/butteries-recipe/

I think I get a lot of my mental outlook from my Grandmother in that way. You don't cry in public as a woman. Even if your heart breaks. You can't seem weak or hysterical. The world doesn't have time for weakness. It never did.

People have their own issues to deal with.

Mutual Aid and Solidarity

While there's often a monetary idea to mutual aid. I've seen it practiced across the fediverse. It's sometimes the boosting of a post.

But often it's a heartfelt response to someone's heart break. It's a “Hey, I see you.”

It's comfort and a genuine acknowledgement of someone else's pain. I see it practiced across the ME and Long Covid community. We get more comfort from strangers across the internet than our own families and friends in meat space.

Unless you've been there in either position, you have no idea of the comfort of that.

An acknowledgment of yes, you are ill. I stand with you.

I want the comfort. I want the acknowledgment of mine and others suffering. I don't need people to try to make it better (although that would be nice, if you have the capacity).

I need some of my meat-space folks to realise and acknowledge I'm not going to get better. I wish they could show solidarity in the way that folks on the fediverse do. I'm pretty sure some folks on the fediverse feel the same with their own meat space communities.

It means so much more than an empty “Get well soon.”

Sometimes I just despair of #FOSS in general. This week has been brutal to watch.

This week we've seen an outpouring of hate wrapped up in cotton candy rhetoric that I've not seen since gamer-gate.

This period of hate was directed against a Black developer who is creating a database of Fediblocks with reasons and receipts for those blocks.

To be clear I'm a cis white woman. Like I have quite a bit of privilege here. But I am othered. I'm not straight, and I have Long Covid. I grew up in a disabled household. I can see the cobbles around me and sometimes I can see them for others, but not everyone. We cannot anticipate all the harms. But we can use tools to mitigate harm. It does take will from our communities though.

The fediblock tag was created by 2 marginalised folks in the fediverse, at least one of those creators was black. It was created partly in response to the outpouring of hate against playvicious an instance for black folks in the fediverse. I've seen people say that the developer started this in 2020 with screenshots as their arguments. But the truth is all of this started back further in time in 2017.

The fediverse isn't a welcoming space to black folks, its not a welcoming space to indigenous folks. But then the fediverse is a microcosm of the larger FOSS community.

I've often seen the arguments of fediblocks go thus:

They can be misused and can be a vector for harassment/false accusations.

When it's coming from FOSS white cis dudes, it kinda reminds me of when women get accused of making false accusations of harassment.

So when I hear that kind of argument, it raises a red flag for me, and I make a note for later. Because I need to work on my own sexism.

A more obvious red flag for me in the FOSS community is related to that community safety. I saw a toot today that made me really angry. It was by a well known and respected person in my FOSS community.

It turns out he doesn't like masks or banging on about #COVID and the need for vaccination boosters. He also defends Richard Stallman passionately so there's that as well.

The Fediblock Tag and what the blocklist tools are for is to help your admins keep your communities safe.

Codes of Conduct are tools to help Projects, Conferences, Event Organisers to keep your communities safe.

A robust health policy enforcing masks are there to keep your community safe and disease free.

If you refuse to see why these tools are needed, I can't interact with you in a meaningful manner. I will not be able to interact with you in person.

Because you won't be safe for me to be around. Or my friends and colleagues to be around. If you value people who won't support safety policies, I need to ask you why?

I need to ask you, why are you not open minded enough to hear a wider community view?

More to the point if you value folks like that over a diverse community, why should we do the work to improve your community when you aren't welcoming to us?

Why should we help you, interact with you, give you our passion and energy in FOSS when you don't accept us or other marginalised groups?

Why should I work with you when you can't be arsed to wear a mask? Or actively ridicule me and others for prioritizing our health and safety?

Why should we advocate for your projects when you don't give a toss about accessibility? When you are actively hostile to us when you defend those projects due to your #ableism?

Why should we work with you, or collaborate with you when you won't do the research and work to look at your internalised #racism?

Why should I work with you when you don't see the point of a Code of Conduct and are sexist? You may not treat me like shit, but who are you harming when I'm not looking?

Why should we collaborate with you at all when you don't make us feel safe and welcome. We know we aren't welcome. You make it clear. Your disdain for us is not hidden.

We've a lot of work to do on our communities and who we consider working with and supporting.

I have one thing for the FOSS movements to consider. When you push for freedom at the expense of other peoples freedom, it's clear to me you don't believe in Human Rights. It's clear to me you barely tolerate me, you sure as heck don't tolerate those outside white-space.

Although perhaps I'm wrong and you do want to help.

Fine. You can start by supporting Ro or donating to the Bad Space.

https://tweaking.thebad.space/about

CW: harassment, stalking

A tale of harassment and stalking.

Prologue

Where to start?

Well what's the reason for this post? What inspired me now of all times to write about this subject?

I needed to write this post. In my professional and personal landscape of my communities I keep seeing the same dynamics. Recent events brought it to mind again.

I lay awake for hours last night as I realised just why some admin and other harassment campaigns brought out a protective instinct in me.

TLDR : An increasing escalation of abuse by a man because a woman enforced boundaries.

Introduction

When I was 17 years old, I managed to acquire a 22 year old stalker. On and off he stalked me for about 2 years, from the age of 17 to 19.

How had I managed that? It's not like you go and pick up a stalker from the shops.

Well. It happened because I was a girl in a very geeky male majority environment. The world of tabletop RPGs. I'd got into it by accident a few years before with a group of boys I knew in Secondary School (High School). But for various reasons that group had to stop.

I missed it, so I got into another group of folk, who were outside school who also liked RPGs. Some liked live action, some like me liked tabletop.

This group was very different from my classmates at school. There had been a few odd incidents and behaviours, that being 17, geeky and odd, had not registered for me. Including some very close to the line stuff, that I didn't want and didn't know how to stop it.

Suffice to say, it was the 1990s, problematic behaviours were the norm. We grew up watching problematic 80s films of Romance and shenanigans. So if you are a guy and feeling uncomfortable or guilty about what came next. I don't blame you. There's a reason there's a CW on this.

I'm not aiming to make this post an attack on men. I am aiming for you to recognise when constant abusive behaviour happens to people online. I want you to understand the trauma that happens from it. I want you to recognise it, see it, and try to get the abusers to stop. If they don't stop, well that's what we have moderation tools for.

We all good now? Cool, cool.

Youth is wasted on the young. For one thing I'd have spotted my abusers faster.

I'd already been subject to a really odd pissing contest about me between 2 guys.

One of them had already been not just creepy, but physically creepy as well. I was disquieted by it and I spoke to the other guy about it because it had made me uncomfortable. I thought the person I was speaking to at this point was a friend.

We started our RPG group with an already screwed up dynamic, of this guy and a younger male friend of mine from school. I'd known that friend from Chess Club and he introduced me to this group. The game was Shadowrun.

Looking back, I should have got a clue, from the pissing contest. I should have got a clue from the fact this new “friend”, used to joke that he'd become a dragon in 2020 and he wanted me to be his enchantress. I did my best to poo poo that.

Make it a joke, and maintain the friendship. The constant story that many of us have. Desperately trying to fend off the inevitable. Before we even knew what was going to happen.

Anyway, I wasn't interested and after the recent incident with one of the other boys in the group. I wanted to be very clear on this.

I wished to set this boundary.

So we did our campaign. It was fine.

Then it wasn't fine.

Dragonheart sucks.

The triggering incident was the film Dragonheart coming to the cinema. I didn't want to see it. The dragon in the trailer looked crap, despite being voiced by Sean Connery. I wasn't going. My friend, (who I'm now going to refer to as my stalker) wanted to see it. He was going with my school friend and his girlfriend. He wanted me to go too.

For a few weeks the conversation was:

“We should all go to see Dragonheart!”

“No thanks, I'm not interested.”

A few days later:

“Oh come on, please come!!”

“No I'm not interested in Fantasy. Besides, younger guy and his girl are going. No”

You get the idea. I was getting sick of this conversation. Especially as my younger school friend was also pushing for this.

I had my reasons for not going. I also knew that it was not a good idea, going to sit in a darkened room, with a couple and a guy. I knew he liked me in a way I couldn't reciprocate. I needed to maintain that boundary.

Again. I was 17 years old, and he was 22 years old.

Finally, it came to a head.

Another person in the TTRPG community was also a casual friend. He'd come by and we were chatting. He was also 17 years old. He was also trying to put the moves on me and I was about to maintain that boundary as well.

My school friend visited, to try to get me to go to Dragonheart one more time, he had tickets. He didn't look happy to see the other boy on my couch. He left.

Then I got a really nasty phone call from my stalker.

He demanded to know if Couch boy was still there.

He then demanded that I go to the cinema with him to see Dragonheart.

Oh and I should get rid of Couch boy and never see Couch boy again.

I was getting rather fed up of this. His tone was very angry. I was disquieted by his tone of voice. I did not appreciate his efforts to control me. To tell me what to do.

I was 17, he was 22.

I told him to never call me again.

I came off the phone shaking. Couch boy saw this and immediately backed off from coming on to me and spent the rest of the afternoon cheering me up. On the rare occasions I see Couch Boy years later, we still catch up and consider each other friends. He never tried it on with me again.

Note the difference there. He respected my boundaries.

The next day, the younger school friend came by again. Yet again to ask me to go to see Dragonheart. He also demanded on behalf of the stalker to know how long Couch boy had been there. What happened with him.

Why wouldn't I just go to the cinema?

At this point I was becoming rather angry. I did not understand what was going on. But I was getting rather annoyed about it. So I responded.

I didn't want to go to the cinema. Especially as this would be a de-facto double date. Which I didn't want to do. Also what happened with Couch boy was NONE OF THEIR BUSINESS!

Cue this breathtaking piece of misogyny “You were unconsciously leading Stalker on.”

I have a temper. But it tends to be a very cold anger. Ice coated my voice as I said “Close the door behind you when you leave.”

The calm before the Storm

So at this point we have the start of the counter example.

It's no longer about the film. It's about control.

My stalker is possessive of my attention and at this point in time, my stalker is starting on the path of over 2 years of stalking me.

I had the temerity to say no. To keep saying no.

I also have male friends that aren't him. I've been objectified. It's no longer about me. It's about him. Why won't I go out with him? I'm his.

I didn't realise at this point in time that my younger friend was going to be “bros before hos” about this. I didn't realise just how much he'd become an enabler of this.

I didn't realise just how he'd betray 4 years of friendship to be an accomplice to my stalking.

Possession

Very soon after that incident, I came home from school one day to find my stalker outside my house. Fortunately I spotted him in time and went up a side street before he saw me. I then went straight to my best friends house.

Scared out of my mind.

The location of my friends house was fortunate, it was straight across from the bus stop where my stalker would get on the bus to go home.

My stalker did not know this. So for an hour and a half we hid behind the net curtains watching the bus stop and we waited until he got on that bus so that I could go home.

At home I found out just how bad the situation had been. He'd turned up outside the house at 13:45. My Father had been about to go out and do errands. My Father didn't dare to leave, in case something happened to me. He'd watched as he saw me spot my stalker and half inch it up the side road. He then watched as my stalker stayed outside the house, then when my stalker decided to leave, he walked back down the road, looking up every side street to see if I was hiding there. He took his time to check.

Again, and I feel this cannot be stated enough. I was 17 years old, my stalker was 22 years old. He was unemployed and had income from being a carer. He had free time. Which he used to hang outside the school gates to try to talk to me alone.

For several weeks I would walk past arm in arm with my best friend. Terrified, heart rate up. Last year I read my diaries from that time, wondering if I was just being over dramatic. Yeah. If anything I've toned it down. I'd detailed it, right down to hand drawn maps explaining where he was and where I was. I'd logged it in more detail than I'd realised.

I logged my anger, my fear and my pain. I logged my analysis of the situation. Trying to work out if I had led him on. Had I? How? I read my previous entries from months before.

I could find nothing. I logged how angry I was about this. I wanted him to stop.

In addition to this campaign of a few weeks, I also had my betrayer's girlfriend come to my house. I didn't let her in. I remember standing on the steps of my front garden. Her standing on the street as she repeated my stalker's and her boyfriend's (the betrayer) words to me.

“He just want's to talk to you.”

“If he doesn't stop I'm going to report him to the police. Please tell him to stop.”

So it stopped for a short while, until the summer holidays.

I was on the phone to a relative when I heard someone come to the door. I recognised his shape. I carefully hid while whispering to the relative to stay on the phone, but I needed to be quiet. Meantime he knocked, and then looked though our mailbox flap to see if I was there.

Again my heart rate increased. I sat quietly on the stairs out of the direct view of the front door. I was terrified he'd get in.

I got silent phone calls. Not everyday, but often enough that my Father had to answer the phone for me. 25 years later and I still don't answer the phone from an unknown number.

I'd stated my boundaries. I'd stated quite strongly to my stalker, my former friend and that friends girlfriend to leave me alone.

This wasn't a case of girls being shy, or not wanting to hurt a guy. I enforced my boundaries and he escalated.

I went to university in my city. He managed to figure out where my campus was. My stalker and my betrayer, hung around outside the entrance. I started to never leave the campus alone. Every time I saw them, my stalker and his enabler, my betrayer; I felt a mixture of terror and anger.

Anger at my stalker, for not respecting my boundaries. Anger at my betrayer, for helping that stalker to stalk me. Anger at myself, for ending up in this situation and being terrified.

I'd mentioned to my Father about seeing them. In the Winter, My Father started meeting me to go to the library, “I was going to put these books back, wanna come?”

It gets dark up North very quickly in the Winter. There were a lot of poorly lit alleyways between Campus and home. I felt safer, plus I like books and they weren't there. Plus my Father's awesome company.

It wasn't until a decade later my Father admitted to me, he walked to my campus (2 miles away) to see if my stalker turned up. Every time my Father came to my campus, my stalker was there. He'd stay there outside my campus door until he and my betrayer spotted my Father. My Father desperately wanted my confidence to be good. To not be affected. He wanted me to get the maximum I could out of university and the friends I made.

I went on night's out and lived my life and took risks, in sheer defiance of my stalker. I was so angry, at him and angry with my own fear.

I fenced. I got a Full blue for fencing. I'd walk down the street. But I was fortunate, my stalker had to be home before 6. We'd still get the odd silent phone call. But he had affected me. My Father remembered when I bought a slightly larger pair of docs.

“I'll wear thicker socks, it'll be better for kicking a guys shins and then running.”

The end of the story.

It finally stopped when I was away on industrial placement for a year. I was still working in the city, but 9 to 5 meant he didn't see me. In the years after that I'd still occasionally get a silent phone call, so it reinforced my fear of answering calls on the landline.

He was one of the few people who had it. It was ALWAYS him. But at least I no longer saw him outside my house, or outside my uni campus.

I got off lightly. I was also protected by friends and family.

Many women don't, many men who are stalked don't. Many marginalised folk on here are doxxed and harassed.

There was escalation. All because I didn't want to go and see Dragonheart. All I did, was think I was friends with a guy, and enforced a boundary.

If you are a guy, and you are feeling guilty because perhaps you recognise some of the initial behaviour. I want you to continue on this journey. Try to grow that empathy a bit more. Yes, it's hard and painful. The guilt sucks.

For one thing you may well have been Couch guy. He realised and backed off. There's a difference between that and a campaign of stalking for 2 years.

I don't want your penance. If you also started on that journey, the person you harassed doesn't want it either.

No really.

Leave them alone.

You aren't entitled to my forgiveness or theirs.

What should you do?

I want you to teach the other folks around you that this escalation of behaviour and harassment happened because we enforced our boundaries.

I want you to see online harassment beyond “main character drama”, “mini Elons” and “Fedi fiefdoms!”

I want you to understand that this harassment keeps happening, because some Fedi admins spoke to their communities. They enforced a boundary. They enforced moderation.

The harassment continues on from “Drama to drama” escalated by some well meaning people. Who naturally trust their mods, because sometimes those mods have kept them safe.

Because they only know one side of the story. The harassment keeps happening because those admins enforced their moderation rules.

They have rigorous codes of conducts and enforce them. They do this to protect their communities. To keep those folks safe. Sometimes they will make mistakes. But those communities are filled with folk who made the choice to be on those instances. Because they weren't protected elsewhere.

They needed the boundaries to shelter behind. They needed those boundaries, because sometimes they have stalkers who don't respect boundaries either.

I want you to understand that the harassment will keep happening because those admins care about their communities and enforce a boundary for the good of those communities.

I want you to recognise the escalation.

I want you to see the harassment and the recruitment of others to be their accomplices.

I certainly don't want you to trust those accomplices with your mental health when you're being harassed.

I want you to see it when the “Dramas” online and in our physical FOSS communities escalate in harassment because someone said no.

I want you to help enforce those boundaries. Not join in the harassment. Not excuse their lies or buy into “it was just a shitpost bro!”

Recognise it.

When I enforce my own boundaries. Please respect them.

Don't be like my stalker.