Rae Gee's Blog, page 12

Living With A Stalker

A couple of days ago, I wrote an open letter to HarperCollins and why I won't be supporting them any more. It revolved around something one of their authors did. A criminal act which, hopefully, the person in question is now getting help for.
Let's talk about stalking. Let's talk about how it can affect lives. Let's talk about how it's not cute and funny.
As I mentioned before, I was the victim of a stalker. He was an ex who'd decided that me saying “No” to him wasn't enough. He was determined to follow me and harass me until I changed my mind and said “Yes”. And I came so close so many times just to get him to stop.
He called my family constantly. He contacted them on Myspace (this happened pre-Facebook and Twitter). He sent them text messages DEMANDING that they made me get back with him.
I had to move. Twice. And he still found me. He found out where I lived, what classes I was taking, where I was working, where I shopped, where I went out, who my friends were. I'd come out of class and find him standing around and chatting to my friends. One of my workplaces called to tell me he'd been in asking about me. Every place I worked at stood up for me and barred him. Yet he still tried to get in.
He called me. Constantly. I'd turn my phone off for lectures and, when I turned it back on again, there were be ten, twenty, thirty missed calls. There would be angry voicemails asking me why my phone was turned off. For some reason, he didn't understand the meaning of going to university. Didn't understand that I had to sit and concentrate and couldn't be on call 24/7 for him. Apparently I was supposed to be available at all times, even though I was 200 miles away.
He chased me along deserted roads as I tried to escape him. I pushed and kicked and hit and screamed. But he still kept on coming, grabbing at me and demanding I didn't leave him. But I had left him. I'd left him because I couldn't cope with his neediness and needed to get my head down and study.
I called the police. Oh, believe me, I called the police. One day I called them while he was standing outside of my house and screaming at me. I held the phone up for the police to hear. My voice was filled with the terror of the hunted. But their response remained the same. “Sorry, ma'am, we can't do anything until he does something to you”. “Does something” basically meant they couldn't touch him until he hit, raped, or, God forbid, killed me.
This was one of the many reasons I turned to drink and drugs. They were a weapon to obliterate what was happening around me. They made me forget about him, and all that he was doing. To me, my three years at university were a waste because I didn't really achieve anything. This was before campuses and establishments took things like harassment of students seriously (admittedly, my original college in the Midlands dealt with it very well when one of the students followed me home. I had the choice of what could happen to that student. My university, however, failed me miserably). I dropped out at the beginning of the third year and spent the next twelve month drifting around the area before I finally made my way home. Even there, he didn't stop.
Once back home, he found me again. It didn't matter that I was in the throes of going through drug withdrawals. He started calling again. Started writing letters. All the time he was begging me to return to him. This was four years after I'd left him.
When I was clean and sober, I had to move. Again. This time I had a secret weapon in the form of my brothers. They saw my stalker one night. When he asked how I was, one of them replied, “She's dead”. They, like myself, were tired of the constant harassment. Tired of being dragged into the drama that I'd unwittingly forced them to be a part of. And they'd managed to free me when I couldn't free myself.
I never heard from him again. But I still carry the scars. Whenever I'm in the local area, I'm super wary of who's around me. If you've travelled anywhere with me, you may notice that I get a little jumpy and nervous. I also get quiet. Deathly quiet. I know he's not there but I can't help feeling that there's someone, just waiting around the corner for me.
Stalking isn't funny. It isn't something to joke about. And it's definitely not something to brag about. It leaves scars. Not physical scars but mental ones. And they're hard to break free from. It crushes a person's self esteem and confidence. It makes them feel worthless and alone. It traps them and makes them feel like there's no way out. People have killed themselves because of stalkers and I'm only happy that I've had people who've helped, and still help, me get over those boundaries I've put around myself.
Many of those scars still live within me. I've unconsciously made myself ugly so that I don't attract attention. I dress in baggy clothes and rarely wear make up. I don't have the confidence to get dressed up and look nice. I still jump at shadows and unexpected noises. I still creep around the streets, waiting for someone to jump out. I still doubt myself. I'm still looking for the confidence I used to have.
If you have a stalker please speak out. Email me. Call someone. Call the police. The authorities are now admitting that this is a problem and they have agencies in place to help you. They will help. Please don't live in fear. There's a master list of phone numbers here:
Helplines Master List


You're not alone. And we'll look after you. We promise.

Why HarperCollins Have Lost A Customer

Dear all at HarperCollins,
I'd like to bring to your attention the online (and, it seems, the real world) behaviour of one of your authors. Kathleen Hale.
Now, are you ready for this? This is a woman who took a negative review of her novel so badly that she wound up stalking and harassing the woman who posted the said review. Can we just repeat that:
SHE STALKED AND HARASSED SOMEONE WHO POSTED A NEGATIVE REVIEW.
Not only that, but she BULLIED someone who claimed to have been molested by Hale's own mother.
Where, in anyone's right mind, is that sane and safe behaviour?
I'm sure you're receiving a million emails about this and I'm sure I'll get a standard response from you that these articles are all fiction and not to worry about them.
I do worry, that's the problem.
You see, like many people, I've been bullied and harassed. But not just a little bit bullied and harassed and stalked. No, I've been at the point where I've had to move several times and change my name. I've had to have people tell the stalker that I'm DEAD before I've been left alone. I still live in fear of those people and constantly have to hide.
Let's reiterate that again shall we?
Stalking, bullying and harassing, whether real or fictional should NOT be tolerated. If those articles are fiction, then they should have said as much. If this is her behaviour, as a publisher, you shouldn't be scared. You should be TERRIFIED. Because if this was me was stalking, I wouldn't just be suing her. I'd be suing YOU as well. And she'd have made half my case against her and yourselves by posting it all on the public forum.
I'm appalled at you for allowing such articles to be published and I hope you reprimand this author. If she takes this action every time a negative review is posted then maybe you should tell her that writing (or any other form of employment that allows reviews) isn't for her. Ask her how she'd feel if she was the one who was being harassed. I bet she wouldn't like it. Actually, I'd love to sit and ask her myself. But I get the feeling that, from the way she writes, it probably wouldn't get through her thick skull. She looks like she's one of those people who's so wrapped up in herself in her own “problems” that no one else matters. I'd love you to prove me wrong and show me that she's actually a nice, decent, and caring human being but I doubt that you will. I would ask for a written apology from her but I'm scared that, if I send you my address, she'd come and stalk me as well.
If these articles were promotion for her book you can count me out from buying it. They're in extremely poor taste and even you have to admit to that. As such, you've now lost me as a customer and I'll be encouraging my friends, family, and community to do the same. 
Yours,Rae
Kathleen Hale tracks down and visits the house of a critic not once, but twice.
Kathleen Hale stalks and bullies someone who accused Hale's own mother of molestation.

Season's End

You might remember that a couple of months ago, I posted this photo.






That was my baby tomato plant, lovingly carried home from work and replanted in my garden. Well, this is what it turned into.




Yes, I know I should have trimmed the leaves and branches back. At least I know that for next year! We had some ripe tomatoes.

And now we have a whole bunch of green tomatoes to make chutney with!


I'm sad to see the tomato plant come to an end. It's been a lot of fun and I'm extremely proud that I managed to get it to go that far. It's the first time I've ever grown anything and I can't believe how large it grew! Now the plant will return to the earth, becoming compost for next year's harvest.

The Zine Factory

When I was at university, I dropped a good chunk of my student loans on a laser printer. Back then, in the early 2000's, they were cheap but still not that cheap. They were generally still seen as an office staple as opposed to being on the desk of a dirt poor student.
Why did I have a laser printer hooked up to my cobbled together laptop? Because I was a zinester. I wrote about what I loved and published them in little magazines for friends, and others, to read. I sold them and traded them for other, similarly interesting, little magazines. Mostly I wrote about the Goth scene. There were a few magazines at the time, but none of them seemed to cover what I wanted to read about. Sure, they featured bands and artists and authors. But they didn't really feature travel articles. So, thanks to the power of the internet, I managed to get in touch with people who worked in the scenes in Japan, Germany, and other far flung places. All of them gave awesome interviews, telling of what the Goth scene was like in their corner of the world. Along the way, I made some pretty cool contacts with record labels and lovingly reviewed their new releases. Somewhere I still have all the CD's and tapes they sent me. I'm also sure that, somewhere in the attic, are all the old zines I either made, traded, or bought.


Sadly, that zine died a death when I moved back to the Midlands. Over the years, the zine scene is something I've thought of on and off. I remember it fondly. I remember packaging up and mailing out my own. I remember receiving the ones I traded my own for. One particular zine, a music and gig review one I believe, used to come with a different fabric heart glued to the cover. Some were traditional cut and paste zines while others, like my own, used desktop publishing. I'd loved to have done the cut and paste version but the photocopying costs were prohibitive. Hence the reason I brought a laser printer. Yet all of them were lovingly made.
The zine scene is still going strong. All you have to do is look on somewhere like Etsy to see the ones being produced. A Google search throws up lists of directories and distros. If you're in a city, you may even find a small independent music or book store selling them.
As I said, I've been thinking about the zine scene on and off for several years. I started to put one together last year until I realised that my brain had forgotten how to order the pages (it's not easy, trust me!).
Then I read a book called “DIY: The Rise of Lo-Fi” and that spurred me on. I dug out one of the three laser printers we now own and began to compile the articles I'd written following my visit to Sound City Studios (four in total, two of which are on this website). Somewhere along the way, Dad must have seen me trying to order pages and gave me a program that did all the hard work for me (PagePlus 5 for anyone who's interested).
And so I set up my little zine factory again. The Sound City one is a one off, as is another I'm planning. I'm also thinking of going back to putting one out a few times a year, one with a variety of different articles in it, some of them culled from this very website.


I thank the people who are putting up with my current bout of crankiness and the constant whirr of the printer. I thank them for ignoring the thud of the (brand new) long arm stapler. And I thank them for the endless cups of tea as I once more delve into a little world I'd forgotten I loved so much.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zine

RIP Tom

This week, the world lost a great man. He wasn't a president, nor a prime minister. He wasn't part of a royal family. He wasn't someone you'd have seen on a reality show. But, to many, this man, along with the rest of his wonderful family, was a welcoming figure after a long journey.
Tom Skeeter was one of the founders of Sound City Studios and their main man. Earlier this year I had the pleasure of spending an hour there. During our visit, we had the honour of meeting both Tom and his lovely daughter, Sandy.
He was a wonderful and warm man. Even though we only spent a few moments with him, you could tell that he relished the visits from random strangers and made each and every one of us welcome. He loved hearing where we were from, lit up when we asked questions, and was like a child at Christmas with every new story he got to tell. In all honesty, we could have spent all day curled up on the office couches listening to him talk. His smile was infectious and you could tell that he loved his job and loved every person who stepped through the door. It didn't matter if you were Dave Grohl or some random woman from the UK, Tom did his best to make you feel comfortable and at home. It was obvious where his daughter, who now runs the studios, gets her own sunny personality from. We adored spending time with Sandy and Tom and are still grateful for allowing us to wander into their lives for those sixty minutes.
Truth be told, that visit changed my life for the better. It showed me that love and warmth can make the world a better place and that such characteristics should be treasured as opposed to being seen as a weakness. The Sound City family have obviously built their business not just on their splendid studio but also on being some of the kindest people in the industry. So often we hear that, to survive in any industry, you have to step on those below you to climb the ladder. Tom, Sandy, and everyone else who's worked there over the years have proved differently. They've shown that it takes hard work and dedication to do what they do. But also being a welcoming face in what can sometimes be an unforgiving industry. We'll probably never know how many nervous musicians have been soothed by their friendship and mentoring.
Today my thoughts and prayers are with Tom's amazing daughter Sandy, the rest of the Skeeter family, and everyone who's ever passed through Sound City. Tonight I'll raise a drink in his memory as I listen to the music he had a hand in creating. RIP Tom. Thank you for everything you've done and see you on the other side. Keep rockin', you wonderful man!

Ten Years Later

On August 31st 2004, I started on a journey that I never thought I'd take. Following an overdose from illegal drugs, I began to walk along the road to becoming clean. It was a long, hard journey, one with more lows than highs. It was painful not just for myself, but for my family as well. They debated where they'd gone wrong. They wondered if there'd been warning signs. But none of it would have helped. In those few years I'd chosen to take a dark route into the pits of Hell itself.
Now, exactly ten years later, I'm going through exactly the same process of letting a drug leave my system. For that decade, I've taken a cocktail of various anti-psychotic medications to help with damage I did to my brain. Back in 2004, one friend described it as pulling the cables from a studio patch bay and returning them in the wrong order. I had to relearn how to do things. I still don't drive because I'm nervous of my own perceptions of speed and distance. I never had the chance to learn because, in those later teenage years, I was too wrapped up in what caused me to finally spiral into a life of drug addiction and alcoholism. One day, hopefully, I'll get to learning to drive and it'll be another big achievement for me to celebrate.
But now there's no need for the handful of pills every night. While I will still have the bipolar, the doctors have deemed that I'm now well enough to look after myself. I get up every day, I go to work, I can balance my finances, all things I couldn't do ten years ago when I was writhing on the floor, screaming for the hallucinations to stop. Right now I'm going through many of the symptoms I suffered ten years ago. Hallucinations, muscle spasms, nausea, exhaustion. But I know that, at the end of it, there will be a bright, new life waiting for me.
It feels good to have reached this point in my life. For me, it's an indicator that there are better things in this life. It's giving me a chance to follow my dreams and take the next step. There are plans afoot for large projects much like the ones I worked on before all of this. I'm scared for what will come next. But I'm also excited. I'm looking forward to what happens next.
Many would like us to believe that there isn't a life for those with addictions or mental health issues. Often the two go hand in hand (I still haven't stopped smoking. But I will, one day). But there is. It doesn't matter how old you are, life can begin again. It may take a major event for someone to stop their destructive behaviour. Or they may finally reach a point in the road where they decide that enough is enough. And there's help out there for everyone. As always, I'm here to listen. Click the contact button and send me an email. 
Alcoholics Anonymous 
Narcotics Anonymous

Bored of Boris's Routemasters? Try This!

If you go down to London Town, you’re sure of a big surprise. For there’s black cabs, red buses, Beefeaters, the Queen, and, among it all, something you never thought you’d see.
It appears like a thief in the night, an old Routemaster bus painted from top to tail in black. A small crowd has already gathered to await its arrival and the aptly named Necrobus doesn’t disappoint. Decked out in red seating, velvet curtains, and little gooseneck lamps, it definitely fits for what’s about to come.


Once your tickets have been checked, you’re ushered aboard, creeping up the curving back staircase to the sounds of haunting orchestral music. Despite its very 19thCentury look, the Necrobus also houses some very cool mod-cons, including TV’s, cameras, and a wireless microphone system (so that you don’t miss any of the… action). You’re introduced to your very well spoken conductor who runs through the rules, including that “Foot Cam” is a necessary part of the CCTV system. I’ll let you be the judge of that.
Anyway, on with the tour. There possibly can't be anything nicer than been whisked around London in a pimped out, black 1960's Routemaster while listening to tales of executions, plagues, and fires.
Or can there?
Well, this is a twist on your traditional bus tour. (Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't be riding around London on a pimped out, black 1960's Routemaster) Keep your eyes on the TV screens because all will be revealed in the form of Mr Hinged, the Health and Safety guy (or 'elf n' safety if you want to be like that). It's up to him whether the Necrobus runs and, well, it appears to be running without a license.
So it's up to our good conductor, and one or two of the more burly male passengers who got roped in whether they wanted to or not, to make sure that the bus sticks to its route. I won't give too much away but let's just say that Mr Hinged's nickname is apparently “Unhinged”. Yeah, just sayin'.
But anyway, I'm not going to give too much away because otherwise you'll just read this and not bother going and taking the tour.


The tour does have some slight interactive elements and the guides have great comedy timing. While the tour is suitable for those under 13, the website does state that it's not suitable for very young children. Despite that, there's plenty of humour that'll keep the adults giggling and the kids wondering what the heck their elders are laughing at. Yes, it is spooky and there are a couple of points that may make you jump. There's plenty of history and, well, you get to ride around London in a pimped out, black 1960's Routemaster while having a good laugh. Truth be told, I haven't laughed as hard as I did on this tour for a very long time. You also get the chance to see London at night and, for that, I'd recommend sitting on the top deck of the bus. So if you're bored of Mr Johnson's new red buses, go and catch this one at Northumberland Ave for a truly different view of London.
www.theghostbustours.com/ 

The Break Up

I had a break up recently. It had been coming for a while but it had to be done. It broke my heart and I've spent many hours wondering if it was the right decision.
They asked for money. I gave it to them. They asked for my devotion. I gave it to them. They asked for my undivided attention. I gave it to them.
In return, they gave me something back. I felt like they loved me. I felt like they wanted me to be a part of their life.
Then they started asking me for more money, more time, and more attention. This time I refused when I realised I wasn't getting what I wanted in return. Their devotion to me had dwindled to nothing. Their eyes were looking at another. Their ears were listening to everything but what I had to say.
After fifteen long years, suddenly I wasn't worthy of their affection any longer. My looks had obviously gone. I probably gained weight. Maybe I was demanding too much of them. Maybe I'd wanted too much when I'd asked them to leave me a little something in return for all the money I was giving them. Who knows? But suddenly the eighteen year old Argentinian cutie was obviously a better option than the 30-something who still suffered from acne.
The funny thing is, I didn't break up with a person. No, I broke up with my favourite band. The final straw came when the last little thing they gave us for free (short tour videos on You Tube) were put behind a pay wall. Already I was paying for albums, fan club membership, forum access, merchandise, concert tickets, meet and greets, heck, even wine and coffee. I poured my life and soul into following and supporting them for the best part of twenty years. So when they decided to start charging me to watch the single free thing they'd been giving us for the past few years, I gave up. I'd had enough.
And I'm not sad to say that it utterly broke my heart to do it. They'd come into my life when I'd needed them the most, when I was on the edge of suicide. And now I'm kissing them goodbye. Will I miss them? Yes, I will.
Will I go back to them?
Well, we'll see. They'll have to do a heck of a lot of work to win me back.
But, for now, I'll be enjoying the freedom of musical singledom. Who knows; I might find my next big love interest!

Beating Writer's Block

Writer’s block can be crippling. Like a black cloud, it descends and covers the whole mind, seemingly leaving no escape. I’ve been asked a couple of times how I beat writer’s block so I thought I’d share my tips.

- Don’t let it fester. Don’t let the days drag into weeks and the weeks drag into months. Keep busy, even if it’s not with writing related projects. Don’t sit there and stare at a blank screen because it’s one of the worst feelings in the world. If you don’t break the block early, it can linger for months or even years. And the worst feeling in the world is the one where you’re not able to create.
- Do a little writing every day. It doesn’t have to be on your current project. If there’s one you’ve been itching to start, make a start on it. Scribble notes in a notebook or write a letter. Send a card or postcard to someone you haven’t spoken to in a long time (letters and cards are soooo much nicer in this day and age of electronic communications!). Send a thank you note to someone you admire. As long as you’re putting words down, you’re keeping that part of your brain active.

- Try and have a writing goal for every day. It could be 100 words or 1000 words. It may be that you want to write for an hour, but have a goal. Once you make your goal, stick to it. Turn off your phone and internet. Tell people what you’re doing and that you don’t want to be disturbed until you’re done. If you’re working in a noisy or active environment, help focus your mind by wearing headphones and listening to music or white noise tracks.
- Go for a walk, bike ride, or a run. Take an MP3 player and some headphones. Or if the fancy takes you, go to as night club, dance class, or gym. All exercise is great for kick starting the brain.
- Try something other than writing to try and get the creative juices flowing. I can’t draw but it doesn’t stop me from having a drawer full of pens, pencils, and Sharpies. When I’m having a bit of a bad writing day, I sit and doodle. Other people I know make jewellery, create clay models, or take photographs.
- Create a style book of images and ideas relating to your story. Images can include examples of clothing, buildings, and anything else that takes your fancy. Jot down ideas and scenes in between the images. When writer’s block strikes, flick through to help refresh your memory.
- Take a break, even if it’s only for a couple of days at a friend’s house or a couple of hours at a gallery. Those hours away can help immensely to help the creative juices flow.
- Laugh! Laughter’s great at helping to beat writer’s block so log onto your favourite funny websites, watch a film, or go and see one of your favourite comedians.
- Reward yourself! If you hit a daily or weekly writing goal, give yourself a reward. It might be a night out, a concert ticket, or a take away. Enjoy yourself!

Writing’s supposed to be fun and enjoyable. But, like any job, it has its down sides. The second you feel the cloud descend, step back and take a good look. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. You might find that sharing the experience with someone helps get you back on track.
Until later, happy writing!

Please Don't Suffer Alone

The recent trials of Rolf Harris, Jimmy Saville, and Max Clifford have left me thinking about my own experiences. The first time it happened, I was a naïve teenager and the police, despite their obvious concern, made me feel like I was the criminal. It didn't help that the case was dropped thanks to the real criminal's friends and family giving him an alibi.
Because of it, I made myself as ugly as possible. I refused to play the “Skinny is pretty” game. My wardrobe, even now, consists mainly of band shirts and jeans. I rarely wear make up. I turned to drink and drugs to mask the pain and darkness (Been clean for 10 years in August!). In all, I've subconsciously wanted to blend into the background and make myself as invisible as possible.
Over the years, it's happened several more times. Random men grabbing and groping and thinking it's okay because, you know, no woman is going to report it because no one's going to believe them. And, if they do report it, they'll either be made to feel like a criminal, the case will be dropped, or they'll have to dredge up memories they really don't want to dredge up. It takes a strong person to say “Yeah, I'm happy to go to court, see my abuser again, and be cross examined by a bunch of people who think that I'm lying”. Because, if I'm frank, it's a really fucking harrowing experience and can set back any recovery by months, if not years. We always say that it's men assaulting but, unfortunately, women can just be as bad as men. The pain and agony is no different if the sexes are reversed.
It happened again recently to me and, while I won't go in to details, it was enough to leave me shaken up and crying. As one friend said, “You're a tough cookie, so this has got to be bad for you to be this nervous”. I didn't want to call the police. I didn't want to face the questioning and the doubts and the feeling that I was the criminal. I didn't want to feel like I was the one being accused of something because I'd dared to report someone who'd done something wrong. I didn't want to feel like I was wasting police time because, as the news likes to repeatedly tell us, they're doing more policing with less money.
But I had to do because what if the next girl wasn't so lucky? What if she couldn't run? Or something else happened?
However, this time the police outdid themselves. They were supportive and kind and, for the first time in a long time, I felt as though I wasn't the one under suspicion. Faith in the police = restored.
If you've been through something similar and feel that you can't report it, please know that you can. Policing has changed a lot in the last few years and there are specially trained officers and support personnel. They'll accompany you through the whole process and make any time in court easier. You'll be able to give evidence without even being in the court room. Please don't think you have to keep it quiet. Tell someone, anyone. There's phone numbers you can call if you feel like you can't talk to family or friends. My email address is in the contact page of this website. Please don't suffer alone.
National Child Abuse Helpline: 1-800-422-4453
National Domestic Violence Crisis Line: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
National Domestic Violence Hotline (TDD): 1-800-787-32324
Center for the Prevention of School Violence: 1-800-299-6504
Child Abuse Helpline: 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453)
Domestic Violence Helpline: 1-800-548-2722
Healing Woman Foundation (Abuse): 1-800-477-4111
Child Abuse Hotline Support & Information: 1-800-792-5200
Women’s Aid National Domestic Violence Helpline (UK): 0345 023 468
Sexual Abuse Centre (UK): 0117 935 1707
Sexual Assault Support (24/7, English & Spanish): 1-800-223-5001
Domestic & Teen Dating Violence (English & Spanish): 1-800-992-2600
Rape Crisis England & Wales: 0808 802 9999 1(open 2 - 2.30pm 7 - 9.30pm) e-mail info@rapecrisis.org.uk
Rape Crisis Scotland: 08088 01 03 02 every day, 6pm to midnight
Full list of support phone numbers (including suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, LGBTQ, and others) can be found here:
Helplines Master List