I believe I’ve told you guys about the magnitude of the familial fallout over our wedding when we first met. During that period, when we were mainly hanging out in Baltimore, we had started becoming very close with a gay male married couple eight years our senior. We had never really had any real gay friends before them. They were our main source of support during that time — and specifically the two people I confided into most about and from whom I most sought guidance in dealing with everything awful that was happening.

That dynamic ran space for about two years until we had a fight, occurring around this time last year, wherein they used our every trigger, insecurity and anxiety against us, always at the worst possible times, seeing as we were moving and I was changing jobs. They strategically turned our every shared friend against us, too, mainly by hacking my Facebook and monitoring my web activity and communications.

My password was easy — our wedding date — and according to my log in history one day, when the language settings on my account were mysteriously changed to Portuguese, I found that someone from Baltimore had been logging on to my account for weeks.

I’ve had Facebook since I was 16. I decided to delete my account entirely, because I did not feel comfortable with anybody anywhere having access to such a vast trove of my vulnerable personal information.

We reconnected with my ex-bf from college at a wedding (coincidentally also named Kevin, or KG as we call him) a few months before meeting you and Alfonso in the elevator. The last time I seen him was in 2009, and it turned out he lived in DC, too.

With us being from Trump Country, the group he intentionally worked to bring us into was the first time we ever saw that groups having boundaries and groups having devotion were not mutually exclusive.

That alone helped us to escape, because it was a healthy alternative to prioritize over the all-encompassing toxicity of the one we were trying to leave behind.