Hot Allostatic Load, a Rebuttal
The funny thing about the article written ten years ago by Porpentine, aside from it being incredibly long, is that despite itâs message, the only people who ever reference it, are the types of people the author warns against. The abusers, the abusiveâThe people who refuse to take accountability for their actions in harm theyâve caused against others, being rightfully criticized, and then coming out with a social media post, like, âDamn, Iâve been hot allostatic loaded!â And Iâm writing this not as an analysis of the article itself, but as as condemnation of those who continue to trot it out as a shield from rightful criticism, and to hopefully reposition its meaning so that a new generation of trans people finally understand what this was all actually about.
> For years, queer/trans/feminist scenes have been processing an influx of trans fems, often impoverished, disabled, and/or from traumatic backgrounds. These scenes have been abusing them, using them as free labor, and sexually exploiting them. The leaders of these scenes exert undue influence over tastemaking, jobs, finance, access to conferences, access to spaces. If someone resists, they are disappeared, in the mundane, boring, horrible way that many trans people are susceptible to, through a trapdoor that can be activated at any time. Housing, community, reputationâgone. No one mourns them, no one asks questions. Everyone agrees that they must have been crazy and problematic and that is why they were gone.
Quoted via Hot Allostatic Load at The New Inquiry.
I want to highlight HAL, because it seems to have largely gone over the heads of many. So much so that as of recently, on the enshitified Bluesky, a _man_ recently referenced it in some criticism he was receiving for some ridiculous âtakeâ or statement he made. I donât even know what it was, or know that I want to investigate what the issue even was, as his timeline is so chronically online that Iâd have to sit here for an hour or more trying to comb through and find the offending posts.
Itâs wild to me. Wild because, âHot Allostatic Loadâ is a piece specifically about, and analyzing the systemic abuse and the disappearing of, trans feminine individuals, and _only_ trans feminine individuals, and it seems weâve gone so far past the plot that now, HAL just means, âSomeone was mean to me online,â for anyone who needs a little misdirection from whatever actually bad or nasty thing theyâve said, or done. And this includes Laurelai Bailey, known for so much abuse in trans feminine circles, the article could just be about things sheâs done to other trans women, _specifically_.
But I want to tell a story. A story Iâve been talking about for years, at this point. Not that I think positioning it alongside references to Hot Allostatic Load will drum up anymore awareness of whatâs happened than writing about this has, in the past, but just for ⦠ironyâs sake. Yeah. For irony.
In 2020, when Twitter was still used by regular people, rather than crypto-grifters and far-right extremists, I released the album, âRide Eternal,â which exploded across the synthwave/darksynth scene, _especially_ on Twitter. It hit the first page of bestselling darksynth music on Bandcamp for a few hours, and I was suddenly receiving some kind of attention to the work Iâd done, and was doing.
This was all still during the time when I was in a bit of a struggling period in my life. Not that Iâm _not_ struggling now, but it was _much worse_ back then. I was mostly isolated, mentally dealing with trauma thrust upon me by my previous job ⦠for the crime of having come out as a trans woman. The crime of publicly beginning a medical transition. It took a year and a half of daily abuse and harassment for me to lose my grip on my own sanity, and I left. I left with hopes that I could separate myself from the abuse, and secure my own income, through a possibly misguided belief that building a virtual store in Second Life could be sustainable.
Not that building a store in Second Life _wasnât_ fun, but an income of 15-20 USD per month from store sales is ⦠uh, not an income.
Still dealing with anxiety and depression so severe, that going into public would cause me to freeze up and be immobile, I needed a new idea. And this anxiety wasnât without merit. Part of it was _obviously_ caused by the trauma Iâd been subjected to. Other parts of it had to do with me lashing out in fear, in defense.
It had to do with my near abduction one night when I was out alone buying a pack of cigarettes at a gas station, and a strange man saw me sitting with the driver side door of the vehicle I was driving, open.
I remember clearly, he shouted slurs at me and came running for the door.
Yeah, that time I was almost disappeared for real.
Anyway, ⦠I really liked Synthwave. I thought it would be cool if I could _make_ it.
And so, that became _the next thing_. And from 2017 on-ward, I made album, after album, after album while I learned how to do things better; how to make music that actually sounded good, every single time.
To cut my musical journey saga short, this eventually led to what I consider my best selling album, Ride Eternal, in 2020.
But, being of a marginalized group, there is always the bad that comes with sudden extreme visibility.
This is how it started. Itâs been _so long_ that I donât even remember what it was that he said initially that prompted him to misgender me in this way. The account I was posting on was deleted at least three years ago, along with the thousands of followers I once had. And, I want to note, especially, that _he did_ eventually apologize for this. Months, or a year later? I also donât remember how long that took.
Itâs funny, though, that this is the only person whoâs ever apologized for their heinous behavior in regard to things people have done _to me_ , specifically.
But, of course, I stood up for myself. I _shot back_ , and this was the ensuing response by not only other artists in the Twitter Synthwave scene, but _other trans women_.
To this day, it still makes me feel dizzy, _angry_ , that _none_ of the trans people who followed me, some of which I considered _friends_ , came to my defense. Nobody jumped in and backed me up. Nobody said, âHey, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you guys?â
_Nobody had my back_.
I was alone. Like Iâve always been.
It would be a massive understatement to say that I lost my mind. And, this doesnât even capture the things that happened silently. The multiple men behind the online streaming radio station, that still operates to this day, nightride.fm, stealthily silencing me, blocking me, and, along with a slew of other artists, _removing the reviews theyâd posted on my albums over on Bandcamp_.
I was erased from a music career that I spent, at that point, four years building. Four years, while I was dealing with trauma, and pain, and pulling myself out of the grips of Laurelai Baileyâs years-long manipulation and coercion. Broke, no money, no resources. And this was the straw that _really_ sent me. That broke the camelâs back.
A disproportionate, _violent_ reaction to a trans woman telling someone _not_ to misgender her.
But I guess I deserved that. Just like I deserved to be harassed and abused from the moment I came out as trans. I deserved to lose everything I worked for. Deserved to sequester myself back into the closet, to return to the very corporation that traumatized me, because I _dared to use my own voice in a way that I saw fit_ that other people didnât like.
They donât like when youâre not gentle with them in their hatred _of you_.
Iâm the crazy one.
And ever since, and you can see it on my Bandcamp, Iâve never managed to pull back any of those connections I had. The audience I had. The reputation.
Heck, my own _label_ ghosted me, and I havenât heard from him since. Heâs still in possession of files that I need if Iâm ever to sell the physical version of Ride Eternal again. But, for all I know, heâs living in the desert with no internet connection.
And then the years passed. Twitter became a hell-hole. Bluesky opened. I joined. I got harassed when I asked a trans woman with a large following to censor herself a little bit when she addressed her followers with the t-slur (Bonnie).
Her numerous sycophants told me that _nobody cares_ about how I feel about anything. My feelings do not matter.
So, I became a ghost.
I moved Mastodon instances. I got banned from a place Iâd spent four years interacting with the community (hackers.town), because I had a mental break in response to a troll. I had a reaction to the constant bullshit that people must think _I deserve_ to have thrust upon me.
I still have mental breaks, all of the time.
I moved to Threads, got banned by their AI for no reason.
I erected my own Fediverse instances, joined a few where the people are _at least_ trustworthy enough not to zap my account for telling a troll to go fuck himself.
But, aside from the few who speak to me, the people I talk to in private, and the cool people on the Fediverse who _do_ interact with me. Who _do_ try to understand me.
Iâm a ghost. Deep down Iâll always be a ghost.
None of the work Iâve done, none of what Iâve built matters all that much.
Itâs a raindrop in a black hole.
And I blame all of those people. The ones whoâve never apologized. The ones who thought they could âmulchâ me and make me disappear.
But I survived.
And Iâm still here.
Is this what a âhot allostatic loadâ is?
I donât know. I feel weary assigning myself something that so many have used as a misdirection for abuse.
But I can plainly tell you, the reader, that Iâm not a happy person. I donât sleep soundly. And Iâve never felt like I wasnât alone. When Laurelai Bailey jumped into my notifications on Twitter years ago and told me that Iâd be alone the rest of my life, I didnât believe her at the time. But Iâm starting to.