Lois and I met online more than four years ago and in person almost one year ago. In the back of my mind, every time I posted a photo, tweet, or Substack piece about us, I always hoped that anyone who might have a problem with our friendship would show themselves the door.
Now, I’m under no impression that everyone sees everything I post. In fact, rather than an imaginary audience, I have something like an imaginary no-audience: I’m surprised when anyone does seem to care about what I post. But I still figured that I posted enough that nobody could have the wrong idea of who I am. How wrong I was.
Instead, a substantial number of people have decided to become absolutely livid about my friendship with Lois. These are people who didn’t even know I existed until I hit an arbitrary number of followers on X that caused them to perk up and start paying attention.
I’m not a human to such people—I am a figment of a twisted imagination that led them to believe they owned me. It is the same type of dark psychology that makes the trans movement so dangerous. It seeks to control. And if it can’t control, it seeks to punish.
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