karnythia: (Default)
I wrote something that I think might be the best thing I ever wrote. And I wrote the query letter & the husband is working on the art for it, and I'd be super excited about it all but I'm trying to maintain normal in the face of some extra bad shit. Because some of the threats I'm getting aren't mockable. They are detailed and specific and at least one of the people making them is either clairvoyant or local. I got a quasi mockable threat tonight that pretty much amounted to "Ha ha bitch, I bet you think someone's really going to kill you" and you know what? I do. Because I also got a threat that detailed what I was wearing one day & what I bought at the grocery store. Actually I've gotten a few of those & some could be waved off as a coincidence since it's hot & everyone is wearing t-shirts and shorts, but I have a fondness for funky t-shirts and the most credible threat mentioned my t-shirt logo. Since it's one that was made for me by a friend & never mass produced?

Yeah, it's not paranoia when someone is actually out to get you. Those of you who follow me on Twitter already know that I'm not sleeping. What you don't know is how it feels to be caught between phobias that you know aren't entirely rational & valid concerns that are already being investigated by law enforcement. We got up the money to get out of Memphis, but we haven't gotten up the money to get a new place & honestly I'm not sure if that'll even solve the problem. I could close up my e-shop, but my problem exists off the net so I doubt that'll do any good. For the people that keep emailing to insist I lied or that Stanek proved something?

She proved that if you clip the right passages & ignore the posts in between and don't have access to the locked posts people will believe anything you say if it fits their world view. That's all she proved. I just might die for what I wrote & I refuse to retract a word of it. So, amuse yourselves with phony threats, tell yourselves that I deserve it. Do whatever makes you feel better. But spare me this insistence that my story is about you or your needs. Really spare me this insistence that what is happening to me is impossible. Because I don't have the time or inclination to play pretend with you. This isn't my Last Will & Testament (that's something that will really never make the internet), but it is quite possibly the last time I will address people who think stalking is funny. I'm not planning to die (on the contrary I intend to live a long healthy life), but if I do I wanted to say directly exactly what I think of the gorecrows who are circling to feed. Gorge yourself. Really, I want you to feast. Because someone should enjoy this. And if this is your kind of party? I'm really really glad you hate me.


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May 2015

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