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So this is awkward. I was planning on writing about religion tonight...or maybe (should that topic prove uninspiring) write about Julie Bindel and Janice Raymond’s 2nd-waver BS transphobia. But no, something else has popped up at the last minute that I need to talk about. I have to write about some disturbing things that have been happening in my life recently, and the awkward part to all of this is they involve someone I know. Someone who I know has been reading (monitoring?) this blog. So, with that in mind, I’ve reinstated comment moderation for a while, for my own peace of mind. I still, of course, would love to hear your comments. Consider this me trying to reclaim my safe space.
I had a friend. As sometimes (and awkwardly) happens with friends, she developed a crush on me. I thought this was alright—I didn’t share the feelings, but I figured we could still be friends, right? What transpired was a long series of tug of war, in which she would try to block me off, and then shortly afterwards frantically call me. There was even one instance where she called me at 3am, and another instance when she got into my townhouse to slip a letter under my door (the townhouses require card access, so she had to get one of my house mates to let her in). Then this week she ambushed me outside my home and verbally harassed me. At this point I called a telephone counselling service and explained the situation (the late night phone calls, the text messages, the harassment and ambush outside my home, etc.). With their help I began to realize that this girl was stalking me and harassing me. Sure, it wasn’t anything physical, but nonetheless this was violence. “Domestic abuse,” is what one of the counsellors called it.
I thought I had put an end to it, but again tonight she sent me a text message. Immediately I began to stress out: my heart beat rose dramatically—my heart felt like it was trying to burst through my chest—I found I couldn’t sit still. I called the telephone counselling service again, and while I was on the phone with them, she called four times. It was an 8 minute phone call. I had to send her a text back. I asked her to please stop contacting me. My phone has been silent since. I think it might be over.
As an extra precaution I’m going to the police tomorrow just so there’s a record of instances, just in case she continues to harass me. I don’t think she will, but I guess this is what they call “protecting yourself.”That’s a weird thought. Since I came out as trans and queer, I’ve slowly learned to fear the police. But setting aside the queer identity, what gets me is that the idea of going to the police—what bothers me about even just calling this “stalking” and “harassment”—it makes me feel more like a victim. I thought I would feel empowered, but no. I feel like a victim. I feel scared. I feel vulnerable. Unsafe. I feel...dirty.
Shit. I don’t know what else to say. My head is spinning. I want to sleep, but can’t. I want to scream. I feel like there’s something creeping under my skin that I can’t get out. I feel like I’ve been tainted.
I want someone to talk to, but this fucking country still has me feeling so alone. Damn. I hate feeling this weak.