[Trigger and content warning]
This article was first published on August 19, 2017 and updated in December 2020.

Slut. Whore. I see the words, but don't understand the link I should have to them.

Update

On December 12, 2020, newspaper De Limburger (paywall) brought the news that recently the Dutch Public Prosecution Service recognised Alex (Exurb1a) sexually abused me.

I've been only sexually intimate with 2 people these last 7 years. One was my former work partner Alex who I dated shortly, the other, the father of my child. And to the latter, I was married to for many years since I was 19, before we divorced. 

But now, in 2017, people who don't know me at all, call me a person who sleeps around. Because I spoke out in January and tried to warn others about Alex and tried to protect myself, due to fear of character assassination. Blackmail and threats will make you do things you never thought you'd do. For example, tell everyone the things you are most ashamed of. That someone you loved - who claimed they loved you - abused you. Disrespected you. Humiliated you. While you were working together.

I look at the comments on the Reddit page /r/exurb1a I found, after googling both Alex’ youtube name, and my real name. I had hoped our podcast website would show up, and maybe some youtube videos, but instead, I'm seeing Reddit threads.

Reddit threads filled with smears about me posted by anonymous accounts, in the subreddit Alex moderates. He allowed people to smear me and spread lies about me these last few months, while I was in a hospital, suicidal. He’s didn’t comment himself on anything with his /u/exurbia account publicly, but didn’t delete the smears either or called out the lies.

My clients can find these lies about me. My clients have found these lies about me. How many people now believe I sleep around? That I’m crazy?

Ever since January (2017), acquaintances from my old schools have been reaching out. To send support, and, to ask if they could take me out, when I got 'out'. On a date. While they knew I was hospitalised. Did these guys who never asked me out before, suddenly take an interest in me because they thought I'd be easy? Because people online have been calling me a tramp?
 
A comment on the Reddit page catches my eye:
"Exurb1a violated the bro code and stuck his Dick in crazy and is now facing the consequences"

Stuck his dick in crazy (mirror). I'm not even a person or name anymore. I'm turned into an adjective, performing as a noun. As far as identifying the noun is possible in this sentence, I can say it's something with a hole. An object. A thing. Apparently, it's who I am. What I am. I'm reduced to nothing more than a crazy lump of flesh with a fuck-hole. Great.

Especially great considering Exurb1a was the one who told me when we met online, he suffered from a sleep-walking disorder and hallucinations as a result of it, and that he spent a year in bed because he went 'crazy'.

It would be accurate to call Exurb1a a crazy, if you had the above information. But me? I read the sentence again.

"Exurb1a violated the bro code and stuck his Dick in crazy.." 

Silence brought me trouble. Speaking to defend myself, brought me some more. And now, these adjectives and nouns scattered online, try to define me. They try to convince people they explain, who I am, as a person. There's even a voting system on some of these sites; so popular and shared opinions can end up on top. Many people don't know votes can be manipulated or that Exurb1a has been caught manipulating them in the past.

I read the comments below the dick-comment from TheNASAguy who claims to have spoken to me. Someone tells them they need to grow up for making that comment, a person who then gets accused of being me, because they seemingly seem to stand up for me.

I check the person's page (Ratsinhats) that called TheNASAguy a child, and see they've been on Reddit for 2 years, and made their account far before I even met Alex, and at some point even owned a cat. I'm allergic to cats.

Ratsinhats is not me, and I'm not them. It doesn't matter for people on the internet though. People who want to discuss the things that have been happening between Alex and myself, let alone dare to take a side, are called 'Pieke'. First Alex tried to break me. Now, his fans. If these accounts attacking me even are his fans. They might as well be him. That he’s allowing the accounts to target me, is undeniable, at the very least. That this all happened while I was suicidal in a hospital as a result of his abuse? A fact.

The ‘fans’ (and possibly Alex’ alt(ernative) accounts), are feeding the idea that I'm crazy, by calling me crazy; by accusing everybody that defends me of being me. They are making it look like people don't condemn his behaviour, or question him, by doing so. And, that I'm some kind of woman who turns up in every thread to defend herself anonymously.

And people read this. They read I'm a slut, that I'm crazy, online trying to make drama, and that I'm a fame- and money whore. While I de-monetized videos and took advertisements off my website, the moment I spoke out. Because I didn’t want to profit from speaking out.

Alex is the one who shortly after I spoke out started selling T-Shirts and merchandise of his brand. And, not to forget, is the person who's actively asking people online to donate him money on Patreon.

Alex has his fans pay for his (self claimed) alcohol-, smoke- and drug addiction, while he told me he has a terrible disease (to manipulate me to not file a criminal complaint originally, in hindsight), and should stay far away from drugs, drinking and smoking, due to it.

But his fans online call me a liar instead, a drug abuser, and money whore. While they are funding a lying addict, who proudly celebrates his cocaine, nicotine, weed, alcohol and ketamine abuse, publicly, in his videos. Is he even really sick, or did he make that up too? He asked me to not talk about it with other people because he said he only told me and his ex. It's a great way to keep a lie alive; by asking someone to keep it secret. When I asked another friend of him about the disease, she said she knew about it too. So I know he lied to me about that.. His ex and I weren’t the only ones ‘who knew’.

I look at the pile of papers I've been organising for my police appointment. Print screens of Skype, Facebook and Whatsapp messages are scattered around the table. Pages from my medical report; where nurses described my days, and how Alex who was harassing me was affecting my mental state. A letter from my psychiatrist written for the police; describing which diagnoses they gave me, and which medication I received and why, and how long I was committed (7 months) to a psychiatric ward after Alex abused me the first time, in October 2016.

Acute stress disorder, depressive disorder, and autism spectrum disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder.

But these words seem not to matter
to people online who can only blather
that all I am
is but a cunt
a psychotic slut
that people should hunt
 
They call me whiny bitch who wants to get rich
A slutty Mary
Second name Jane
A drama queen
playing a game
A borderline bint
going insane
 
Those enrolled in pop psychology
Really think they can diagnose me  
they repeat and scream and shout my name
soak me in mud as if I wanted fame

As if the truth
did not harm me
enough already
They just spin and rape
every part of
my story

They give me diagnoses my
doctors never gave me  

Shot in the air
Like confetti  
Welcome to my pixel party
Digital bullets
Only aimed to hurt
Here's where people cover my name in dirt

As if those words do not affect my life and mind
I am learning now
people are not so kind
To care and protect you
when you are low
Not that I did not
already know
Because when you raped me
behind my ears and eyes
Not giving a damn about all my cries  
Yes
That was the night that made me realise
That kindness really quickly dies
When you set boundaries
And dare to say no
People will use this to make you their foe
A bint, a slag, a hooker, a hoe
Someone only in it for dough

A body made of blood and bones
A hole to fuck with sticks and stones
A thing made of only rotting flesh

An inconvenience
For this so-called-genius

And now your fans have me for breakfast too while
You had me for dinner
And now you have me, for life

Yes
I am starting to believe
That maybe I was never
meant to survive