I'm writing this from a coffee shop in Downtown LA, my suitcase and personal bag sandwiched between myself and the table, my absurdly large fur coat that the flight attendant called "a blanket?" draped over it. In a few hours, I'll be at The Game Awards 2024, along with tons of my friends and colleagues, just like last year.
Except this is nothing like last year. Last year I was really only known in the gaming space for something rather innocuous: dragging high-profile industry folks for their bad fashion choices. I helped dress several people last year and got a chance to highlight those who came correct.
But this year I am known for something very different: I am the journalist who wrote a story debunking a conspiracy theory in early March of this year; the journalist who challenged those against diversity and for bullying those they deem "other"; the journalist who faced immediate backlash for that story and who refused to capitulate to online bullies in its wake; the journalist who, because of that refusal, became the defacto Wicked Witch of the Web and whose face has been plastered all over YouTube, Twitter, Reddit, 4Chan, and more; the journalist who has dozens of bizarre short stories written or spoken about her life, her love, her family, and more in the dark corners of the web (along with various fantasies regarding her rape and/or execution); the journalist who kept writing pieces and kept existing online despite this; the journalist who is now without a full-time job; the journalist who, just yesterday, filed a lawsuit against a content creator for the videos and posts he has made about her.
I am not the woman I was a year ago, in so many ways--I am so much more tired, more prone to avoiding conflicting IRL, more nervous about who is looking at me in public spaces. Some of my relationships ended during this harassment campaign and my ability to deal with that loss was non-existent--thanks to what my therapist says is stress. An ovarian cyst ruptured in the middle of the night, sending searing pain across my body like a hot poker had pushed through my abdomen--thanks to what my gyno says is stress. My skin began breaking out in painful pimples like a hormonal teenager--thanks to what my dermatologist says is stress. My stomach problems reached a point where I needed to get a colonoscopy--thanks to what my gastro says is stress.
But yet, as I have jokingly said to my friends, my live stream audience, and my parents in a whiny, vocal-fry-inflected tone: "Nevertheless, she persisted." I'm here. I'm queer (but dating a man, sorry). I'm at The Game Awards 2024, despite it all.