A public apology

When I started writing fanfiction, my name was Maye Emilie. Since my first published work, almost seven years have gone by. I rediscovered my queerness, I found and lost love, my musical tastes have changed, and I have realised that the content that I wrote was harmful to those who read it.

My name is Alastor Emory. I am a trans man with severe mental illness. I will be wholly honest in this apology. I am not going to make excuses for my behaviour, only analyses on my state of mind at the time. The work I put out when I was a teenager is unacceptable.

At the time, I had this grandiose thought that I was a revolutionary, that I was creating a safe space for those who were plagued with self hatred and who turned to self harm. I was overtaken by my eating disorder which was undiagnosed and would only get worse as the years progressed. I was later diagnosed with borderline personality disorder as a consequence of unresolved childhood trauma.

I treated this platform as a journal to chronicle my struggles, to see my "idols" as people who struggled with the same afflictions as I did as a justification for my behaviour. I cannot tell you how many shows I played and I went to with the thought that "this is it. I'm done. I can be better."

The artists that I listened to at the time were my safe haven. A shared community for people who were suffering every day with no outlet but music and self-mutilation. I look back on my life with so much sadness. There seemed to be no escape from the self-hatred and self-loathing that I experienced. At the time, I knew that there was no way out.

I was privileged to be a white middle class person in a state, a city as safe as the twin city suburbs of Minnesota. The middle school I went to at the time was not safe, but as I continued writing I would enter a performing arts school that would shape me for the rest of my life.

I was surrounded by the things I loved: music and acting. Yet, being surrounded by accepting people and a loving environment was not enough to extinguish the pain that I felt in my soul. I still suffered until I turned 18 and was able to take my recovery into my own hands without the fear and humiliation from my parents. I started therapy on my own terms, and even then it was not enough to save me from succumbing to my eating disorder and watching life pass me by.

I almost died. My eating disorder almost killed me. I was 18/19 in college not remembering the past two weeks because my brain was eating itself. Two to three years down the line my brain has still not recovered from the damage I did to it. I forget words that my roommate reminds me exists, I am plagued by the repercussions of what "helped" me survive my childhood.

The works I created were journal entries played off as literature. I read the comments on them now and I am overtaken by regret with the community I created. Even though I didn't understand the ramifications at the time, there is no excuse for writing the explicit content I did.

I cannot change my actions. I cannot reverse the harm that I did. But I can speak out and acknowledge that it was not okay.

I beg of you, to anyone who had read the works that I wrote when I was young, and depressed, and overtaken by trauma, to seek help. There are so many anonymous resources now to say that "I am not okay". Ten years of therapy has taken me a long way, but it was when it was on my terms. Not forced by my parents who didn't understand the trauma I was dealing with, but accepted by myself.

I found a therapist who was perfect for me. We worked together for a year before she said "you need more help than I can give you". It took two months before I accepted that. As someone diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder along with a few others, I finally accepted that she was right.

I almost lost my job. I almost lost everything to my mental illness. It took me ten years to advocate for myself. In the beginning of this year i started what is known at DBT, or Dialectical Behavioural Therapy, and it saved me. I know that everyone's situation is different, and I am not and cannot be someone's therapist. But I can advocate for the growth and safety of the community I contributed to.

I am so sorry for the words that I wrote. It was a justification for self harm, and it helped there be an acceptable of cutting and eating disorders in the community. I can never make up for the harm that I caused.

If you need additional resources, please do not hesitate to contact me via my email: aekomme@gmail.com. I am not a therapist, nor am I willing to provide those services, but I am willing to help you find local resources so that you can feel safe in this world.