April 25, 2020
A couple of years ago, I broke up with my then-boyfriend. It was an obviously toxic relationship, and it was also about my 4th attempt to do so. I was determined to make it stick. He was determined to get me back.
Which initially started as a flood of the expected “I hate you/I love you” messages: pleas to take him back, followed by hateful personal attacks. And I could understand his feelings of heartache, loss, pain, and even betrayal. But his messages quickly turned threatening in nature: to make my life a living hell, to embarrass and ridicule me.
He insisted I give back the gifts he had purchased for me, which I did, and shortly afterward he broke into my apartment and stole some other belongings. People told me to notify the police. I didn’t. I was concerned about his feelings, about how I had hurt him. And I didn’t want to turn it into more of an ordeal than it already was.
Then I started having problems with my internet and phone plan. Somehow he hacked into the system and turned off my WiFI and phone so that it was completely functionless. Some friends told me they were having issues with their social media accounts. I immediately deactivated mine. He sent me elaborate flowers with disturbing notes attached, and dumped the things he no longer wanted of mine on my front lawn. He kept the other stuff. He created an email address in my name and contacted one of my employers, pretending to be me, trying to get me in trouble. I still didn’t contact the police. Instead, the HR department told me to get a buddy, to walk home with someone, lock my doors, be aware of my surroundings. Keep away from strangers. Take a different route home every time. Stop off at different places so I would know if someone was following me. I moved apartments. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my best friends and family. And still the messages were constant. Constant. About how I was worthless, shitty, nothing, a failure, unworthy of love, about how I abandoned him, how I couldn’t get rid of him so easily. I decided not to respond to any of his messages early on, and my final message to him stated just that - that I found his messages concerning, that I would like him to stop contacting me, and that I would not be responding. Instead I spoke to a therapist, who also suggested I notify the police. I still didn’t. Until someone, a stranger, did for me.
He had put posters of me around the community where (he thought) I was living. Posters of my face, saying horribly slanderous things about me.
Little did I know that was just the beginning. That there would be many more posters around several more neighbourhoods, even after I moved cities, constant problems with my phone, more changing of my phone number, an escort service in my name I had to take down, a small claims court battle I had to defend for money I didn’t owe him, and countless harassing messages when he would eventually find out the new phone number I had acquired.
Throughout this, I did learn to tell people. It started with only a couple of trusted friends and family. It was so hard, the shame and guilt almost unbearable. I was terrified for what they would think of me. But instead of disgrace, they held me even closer to them, and told me with even greater conviction that everything would be ok. That it wasn’t my fault. That they were there for me, for whatever I needed.
He ended up getting arrested, for criminal harassment, and for a few other things unrelated to me (he’s had previous run-ins with the law, hence my attempts at trying to leave the relationship). He was arrested and was denied bail. I was safe. It was the only time I felt like I could breathe in about 14 months. And even after then, it took several weeks to feel like I had any sense of my old self back.
I am reflecting on all this mainly because just the other week, he was released from his bail sentence due to the threat of COVID-19 spreading in jails. One of more than 2,000 inmates in Ontario alone. Which I understand. But I also don’t.
During this time of increased social distancing, where self-isolation is becoming a new normal for some, and where (physical) communities and spaces to reach out to in the regular sense of the term are no longer viable sources of refuge, we are creating space for the very people who made those victims feel small, isolated, cornered, and powerless.
When the detective in charge of my case notified me that my ex had applied for bail, he prefaced it with the fact that several other inmates, those with much more severe charges, had already been let out.
The months, sometimes years, and countless hours spent on those cases to help victims feel safe gone in a matter of days.
We are indeed living in extraordinary times. And we need to adjust swiftly and accordingly. But I can’t help but think of the many, many vulnerable people who have suddenly lost their close friends, families, and greater communities to hug tightly, who may be fearful for their safety, not just because of COVID, but for a myriad of other possible reasons. And about how, suddenly, in a matter of a few days, it has become so much more difficult for a lot of us to say that everything will be ok.
- Anonymous Contributor #3
The author of this post has chosen to remain anonymous. I have assigned a number to contributors who opt to remain anonymous. This is so readers have a sense of the number of different contributors that are involved in this continuously growing community.