Harassment; May 30 2022

Circumstances have grown unfortunate, which has made positivity… difficult, to say the least. Not even examining what’s going on in the world (which, news has been taking a big toll on my mental health, not that there’s anything I can do about what’s happening in the United States or in Ukraine or anywhere else), we’ve been the target of harassment.

Happy upcoming Pride, I guess.

We live in a basement apartment below people who decided they hated us the moment we moved in. Beforehand, even, because they were issuing false complaints about us on the first of May, 2021, when we hadn’t moved in yet. They’ve destroyed parts of our property, they’ve had their kids scream slurs at us, and now they’re playing a high-pitched tone nonstop that gives us earaches and, in my case, migraines.

We’ve had to escape to a hotel, for the time being. Needless to say, this is costly, and if you can spare anything to my ko-fi page (linked here) I’d greatly appreciate it.

This is a short post, but hopefully some more story makes up for it.

It hadn’t occurred to them until that moment – they didn’t know whether or not it was safe to call out, to find other people. Something in their gut railed against the idea, wary for no discernible reason, and they bit back the cry budding in the back of their throat before it was released.

Alright then. They wouldn’t ask for help.

A nearby clothesline offered the possibility of warmth, of sturdier clothes, but getting something down from it would put them at risk of being seen. Their empty stomach throbbed along with their feet and legs, the shift they’d awoken in ragged and threadbare.

They’d just have to time it right.