Fucking Cancelled

Would it be possible to tally up my losses? All my closest friends. My community. My reputation. The place I was so excited to be living in. Two books deals that I was so happy about. The band I was working to form. The bdsm scene I was a part of. The capacity to enter into relationships, professional or personal, without having to have ‘the conversation.’ And then, on top of all the staggering losses: the harassment, never ending, always mutating. The misrepresentation at a mass scale, lies passed along at the level of thousands, accusations becoming stranger and stranger and yet no one ever thinks it’s enough. The stress, the grief, the fear, the people in my city defacing my tag, personal information about where I live shared on accounts dedicated to harassing me. Watching people I used to call family take part. Feeling unsafe all the time, unsure who I can trust, working so hard to pull myself up from the pit of despair and terror. A new autoimmune condition, a scary one accompanied by a heightened cancer risk and the need for biopsy, and knowing that there is no compassion in the mob, there is no way they would stop even if they knew what I was going through, even if they knew that the stress of being cancelled was physically making me sick. If I even mentioned this I would just be accused of ‘centering myself.’ As if these people have not stopped centering themselves for a year and a half, taking everything they can possibly take from me, accusing me of baseless things and not even caring that they have no evidence of what they are saying, driving me to the point of suicide and then past that to the point of illness.