I’m about 21 years old when I realize that I have accidentally joined a film fraternity that is far more interested in studying the antics of Harvey Weinstein than the craft of Hitchcock. And like many whistleblowers throughout history, I did not set out to, uh, blow the whistle. Nor did I have the resources at the time to handle the situation perfectly as a confused and traumatized college student. But I do what I can: I beg the students in charge of the organization to listen and I don’t know it at the time, but these people that I believe to be my friends are only interested in protecting the crimes of their guy friends. And so when they refuse to do anything, I end up in the Title Nine office so I can try to get accommodations. The thing is, I don’t feel comfortable going back on campus after being assaulted, so we come to a agreement of sorts and I do an internship in lieu of my senior year capstone project. I don’t return to campus, and when I graduate, I don’t even walk the stage.

When I first met with Title Nine, they lie to my face, telling me that I don’t have to worry anymore and that I’m not alone, but this would only be the beginning of a fight that I would be in for the next decade of my life. My college decides to focus on underage drinking rather than the rampant widespread sexual assault allegations that myself and other women have informed them about. And again, like many other whistleblowers before me, I face an increasingly stressful reality: that there is far more retaliation against me, for talking and getting help, than towards the actual perpetrators of said crimes. In fact, they are partying per usual right after the rest of the world learns what they have done, while I will be nervously looking over my shoulder for years to come.

It takes me over a year after graduating before I finally build up the courage to go public with everything I know. Or maybe it’s less me building up the courage, and more that one day I just break. I can’t stand seeing these men I know to be serial rapists gallivanting about Baltimore city like they are predator kings and this is their rape kingdom.

So one day it all comes out. Everything I know, everything sent to me over the years: the stories shared in whispers over coffee and messages that came through late at night from women who didn’t know where else to go, all of us carrying pieces of the same story.

So I speak. And the Baltimore film scene explodes. Stories roll in for days and days, echoing things I have seen. And for a brief moment, it almost seems like it will matter, like maybe people like me won’t have feel so afraid anymore, that maybe there will be SOME sort of real justice.

But all of that quickly fades, and the frat comprised of my former friends turns their attention to me: discrediting me, slandering me, and calling me “Thanos” (which unfortunately IS a little funny.) The thing about predators, I’ve realized over the years, is that do not like it when you know about the harm they’ve done and they REALLY do not like it when you try to hold them accountable for it. I tried so hard, for years, to handle things privately behind the scenes, but nobody cared.

So I did what I believed I had to do.

And my god, do I pay for it.

And pay for it, and pay for it, for years.

They say that I’m crazy, and sure, maybe I am crazy to do what’s right even if it cost me everything, but frankly, if predators hate me, I view it as a compliment.

But what I’ll never understand is why the people who tell the truth face harsher consequences than the people who did the harm.

It gets to the point where I don’t even view living in Baltimore as feasible anymore, so after college I move to Philadelphia for a few years, where I find myself again. But I’m back now, and ready to reclaim the city that was always just as much mine as it was theirs.

So yeah, I guess me existing in the arts scene in Baltimore without cowering in fear IS a protest in itself. Just taking up space and being here today is my protest, that I refuse to hide away or shrink myself.

And honestly, I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting that these dangerous people are allowed in “safe spaces,” that many people don’t know what they’ve done or they think it’s okay, that they either don’t believe me or simply don’t care enough.

But every time I speak things feel a little less scary.

So, while it is true that I do not recommend shutting down a frat if you enjoy peace of mind, this I know to be true: I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

The motto of our frat was “Lux et Veritas,” which means “light and truth.” And I do believe in both of those things: that all things done in the dark will come to light, and that truth will always, always surface. Sometimes it just needs a little nudge into the light from someone like me.

<3 Char

So in an attempt to keep up with this Substack and also talk about things that aren’t so heavy all the time, I’ve decided to also start documenting some of the media I’ve been consuming! The arts have always been a life force and guiding light for me, and both film and music have played an instrumental part in my healing as I embark on this incredibly fun lifelong journey of having PTSD. Not only that, but I’ve found myself re-connecting with my inner child as I let myself enjoy things fully without fear of what other people would think.

I feel like all my life throughout the time I was 18, I had no problem proudly repping whatever I liked, no matter how “cool” or popular it was at the time (I mean I got a twenty one pilots tattoo, for God’s sake). As I got older, I got a little more sheepish about some of the things I loved, probably as a result of being friends with a lot of extremely judgmental people at the time. So as I’ve gotten older and as I try to heal in a multitude of ways, it’s been very empowering to just sit back and enjoy things without worrying what people will say. And I challenge you to do it too - you might even find that that embarrassing pop punk song you loved at 18 still makes you feel something. You also might discover some cool new artists and art that you really love! I know I have been recently.

Music

So, without further ado, here is my top 5 albums of the month (including some singles that I had on REPEATTTTTT):

Standouts:

• Self-titled Wilt EP from 2024 - not new but new to me!

  • Favorite track: “she wants me too”

• Girl and Prestige by Girl Ray

  • Somehow JUST got hip to Girl Ray?! I’m obsessed. Give me twenty more albums immediately, please

• I like the new Girli album, it’s just my opinion. I won’t lie - I don’t like it as much as 2024’s Matriarchy, which went triple platinum in my home, personally.

  • That said, the single “Slap On The Wrist” brought me to tears the first time I heard it and hasn’t stopped choking me up since. There’s several other standouts on the album, but as a survivor of sexual assault, that one spoke to me the most.

• Creatures by Lamb

  • Discovered Lamb through the single “Fort” and was pleasantly surprised by this entire EP!

• Obsessed with Slayyyter’s WOR$T GIRL IN AMERICA like every other gay in America (happy Pride!!!!)

• I won’t lie: I was very excited for the new Maisie Peters album, but it got a bit redundant for me. It definitely deserves a second listen, however the single “Kingmaker” ft. Julia Michaels has been on repeat for WEEKS because it is so beautiful and lyrically devastating. I plan on giving Floresence another listen soon!

Movies

Standouts (hits and misses):

• Obsessed with Obsession like every other person in America right now; Inde Navarrette is a STAR. Excited to see what all the young talent (both in front of and behind the camera!) will do next. Seen in theaters.

• Lurker was so good!!!! Clout truly is one hell of a drug. Streamed on HBO.

• Asking For It was overall deeply misguided but had some good moments, so you might be wondering why I’ve given it the lowest rating Letterboxd allows. This film got bumped down to a .5 star rating for me after I read reviews and learned that the director of this feminist revenge film was accused of doing heinous things, which made the entire film feel hypocritical and disgusting

• My friend Dani came to visit and had NEVER seen Mamma Mia! so my theatre kid ass had to fix that immediately. It is still an absolutely perfect film to me, even if she didn’t see the vision

• Project Hail Mary was fun and cute and wholesome! Seen in theaters.

These were some of my favorites (and least favorites) this month, what were yours??

<3 Char

This yearning for New York began in middle school on one of my first visits to NYC. I remember telling myself that this was where I was meant to be as I walked past the storied Chelsea Hotel in awe, then past a theatre that did weekly showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, as drag queens strutted past me in floor-length ballgowns, their laughter twinkling through the air. I decided then that I wanted my life to feel that cinematic always.

Other than this memory, I’m not entirely sure where this longing to escape came from: I had an amazingly close family and great home life, made friends fairly easily, and lived in a nice area. It must have been from too many years of listening to pop punk, but from a pretty young age it was clear to me that I needed to get outta this town. Glee was probably also somehow to blame…that and all the time spent reblogging aesthetically pleasing cityscape photosets on Tumblr. All I knew was that at some point in my youth, I had formed the idea that moving to New York City would fix all my problems - the depression and anxiety that I lived with, the people at school who seemed not to understand me, all of it.

This dream would be put on hold as I attended a college here in Maryland, but after an incredibly eventful and exhausting 4 years that involved shutting down a frat and then subsequently being gang-stalked by said frat, I was more ready than I’d ever been to go to New York, the place I’d always promised myself I’d end up. And now I had even more reason to go - to escape people and pain and memories here in Baltimore that haunted me.

Unsure of how to afford New York but determined to make it, I formulated a plan: I would move in with friends in Philly, then work my way up the East Coast. I could use Philly as a jumping off-point, I told myself. I could get myself on the career trajectory I needed to be on for success, and being slightly closer to New York, I could continue to make connections there. It seemed fool-proof, but life once again had other plans. I was living in a punk house at the time, which went to shit and was working as the assistant manager at a museum, which also went to shit.

My mental health rapidly disintegrated as I faced a suddenly terrifying reality, realizing that I didn’t actually truly know anyone around me and being accused of things that didn’t happen. I panicked as I tried to figure out how to prove the truth, and while I eventually succeeded in doing just that, I had been broken. My plans were shattered and any confidence I formerly had in myself was completely gone. My PTSD was terrible and my nervous system felt under attack. I didn’t know who I could trust, so I did the only thing I could think of in that moment: I went home.

I told myself and my friends I’d be back in a few months, that I only needed time to pick up the pieces. But months turned to years and I was (am?) still too scared to even go up to Philly to visit my friends. Most of them I still haven’t seen in 3 years, not because I don’t miss them terribly, but because I still can’t push back the fear of people who betrayed me and made me question my own reality. I fear that even setting eyes on one of them would actually break me. (Again.)

So I’m 29 years old and I live at home with my parents. While in many ways I feel like I have failed, I am also so grateful - I’ve learned so many lessons in my 20s that many people don’t learn until they have a midlife crisis. I feel like I am equipped now with the tools I need to succeed, and while I’m sad that I have this strange fear of Philly, I’m grateful it’s not New York that I am afraid of, because it always meant so much to me my entire life. I am glad I will not repeat the same mistakes there, of falling into questionable crowds, spreading myself too thin, and surrounding myself with chaos.

So I sit here in my childhood bedroom, a contradiction of success and failure: I’m pushing 30 and I live at home, but I also work the kind of job I could’ve only dreamed of as a little girl (as my friend once said to me and I often remind myself: “Understand tho you hold the title ‘producer’ and you’re not even 30!”) I contain years of wisdom and experiences many will not have for decades, but I’m still working towards a place of financial success so I can finally be where I truly want.

But I’ve always been pretty good at keeping promises. And I promised myself when I was 12 that I’d end up in New York, so I know I will. And in the meantime? I cook nearly weekly with my dad, and my mom and I have healed our relationship from years of tension. I get to spend time with my little sister and cheer her on as she experiences living outside our home for the first time. I get so snuggle with my dog. Not only that, but I have so friends from home that I love and get to spend time with. My mental health is the best it’s been in years despite missing the pieces of myself that I feel can only exist fully outside of the suburbs. But I know they’re still in there and will shine again when the time comes. Because no city was ever going to fix all my problems, I had to.

So yeah. I’m nearly 30, I live at home, and fuck it, I’m proud of myself.

<3 Char

Baltimore was the first city where I ever attended Pride. I stood on Charles Street in 2018 and 2019 watching the parade, and one of those years was the first time I ever proudly waved a Bisexual Pride flag with the crowd, finally feeling confident in my identity (like many bisexuals, I spent years doubting the validity of my own sexuality). So much of that confidence was the result of relating to my roommate at the time and her then-boyfriend, who were also both bi, and had stood next to me that day.

I never questioned their identities, so why should I doubt my own?

I felt so happy and at home in Baltimore back then, like everything in this city was so full of life and promise and possibility. It still is, I’m sure. But even this year at Pride, despite being surrounded by queer joy and love, I still feel fear. I still feel the ever-present nagging feeling that I am being watched or that the next time I look over my shoulder someone will be there who intends me harm.

I know it’s my PTSD talking and maybe it’s not fully rational, but it’s my reality every time I step outside in Baltimore. Every time my friends invite me to a party or show or event, I weigh the options in my mind: go out and be social and maybe (even if just for a moment) feel like myself again, or hide inside where I am sure I will be safe and continue to be the shell of myself that I have been since I moved home from Philly. For nearly 2 years I chose the latter, telling myself nothing bad has ever happened as a result of staying home.

But I feel something recently. Something in the air, maybe. Or maybe something inside of me - the fiery, passionate part of myself that yearns for community and creation. I can feel her reaching up from within me, trying to escape, yearning to reclaim pieces of myself that I have buried.

It’s this part of me that gives me the courage to go to Pride for the first time in about 6 years. And it feels good to take up space again instead of hiding. It adds further meaning to the word “pride.”

It’s hard for me to not look at that first photo and feel sad and protective over my past self. She’s smiling, but I know the context that that seemingly happy girl was there at Pride with a boy who claimed to love her, but would tell her frequently to skip meals and eat less so that she could be a version of herself that he deemed worthy of love. I am grateful to now be a version of myself that is comfortable sticking out my (hot) fat ass for a photo, who would never give the time of day to a man who spoke to her that way, but it’s hard seeing photos of the younger version of me that I wish I could protect.

It’s not only the men of my past that I wish I could protect myself from, though. My deepest, most primal fear as I prepared for 2025 Pride is the concept of running into my ex-roommate and former best friend who I once stood side by side with at Pride. My former “platonic soulmate” and bisexual sister who would finish the lyrics to showtunes whenever I would belt out the first lines. The girl one of my ex-boyfriends got mad at because we constantly joked that she was “the best boyfriend” I’d ever had.

I’ve been saying it for years, but I’ll say it again: friend breakups hurt worse. Yeah, you can plan on marrying someone and lose them, but have you ever lost someone who you always imagined being a bridesmaid? That shit hurts infinitely worse, as far as I’m concerned.

It’s been years since we packed up our Charles Village apartment, and subsequently our friendship, but college friends still ask me constantly: what happened?

It’s a question I’m still not sure how to answer, or maybe I do, but I’m afraid to say the whole truth because…for some reason I still feel a bit protective of her. She stayed friends with people who actively supported and defended my rapist when she knew what I went through better than anyone on this entire planet, but I…have never been able to completely leave her to the wolves the same way she did me.

So sometimes I tell the truth. And sometimes I just shrug the questions off. But the pain I have carried over the years because of this friendship betrayal has not been so easy to shrug off, and I wear it like a fucked-up, tattered shawl everywhere I go. Including Pride, where I’m terrified I might see my former best friend.

Luckily Pride in 2025 is filled with love, and nothing happens that fucks with my nervous system, for which I am absurdly grateful. I feel genuinely thankful to the universe whenever I go to events in Smalltimore without seeing anyone I fear running into.

Our laughter echoes down the alleyways as my friends and I dance and frolic through the streets I used to call home. We take photos with the drag queens dressed like Disney princesses and hug and compliment strangers.

And, hey. I even get a picture in front of my old apartment when we pass by.

To be honest, I’m kinda scared to publish this one. It terrifies me to talk about the things that I’m still afraid of, but this day felt big for me - like a turning point for me being back in Baltimore, in my confidence to go out and just simply exist.

And besides, where better than Pride to dance away your fears and exist proudly?

<3 Char

I remember looking out the window as I left Philly for the last time, thinking of returning to Maryland as a “death sentence” in that moment. I’ve heard so many stories over the years about returning to the place where trauma occurred, and how difficult it is to heal in the place where you were harmed initially. It is with this in mind that I resigned myself to isolation upon returning home, not even informing most of my Maryland friends that I had moved home until nearly a year later.

So I guess that is what I want to explore in this Substack - the process of reclaiming Baltimore, a city that I lived in and loved for years, and only decided to leave in an attempt to heal from the memories of things that had taken place in that apartment I loved so much: being sexually assaulted by my “friend,” the worst friendship betrayal I had ever experienced from another woman (plus never seeing our shared cat again after our friendship divorce), and a toxic relationship that was hard to leave. I don’t want to deep dive into these things; God knows I have in therapy, but I do want to chronicle my experiences in Baltimore now that I have accepted this is where I need to be for the time being.

Picture of me on my old rooftop that I adored

After years of working hard to be in the industry I want, I finally have a job in media that is everything I’ve ever wanted, and it just so happens to be here in Baltimore. It’s something I discuss often with my coworker, who was the first person to introduce the idea that maybe the universe brought me back to Baltimore for a reason: to force me not only to heal, but to stop running, and confront the parts of myself that have kept me in a cycle of pain for years now. Why do I always end up giving so much of myself to people so fast and then losing so much? Why do I keep ending up in arts scenes but surrounded by people that cause harm? How do I break the cycle and feel safe in a city I love again? I don’t have any of the answers yet, but I hope you’ll stick around as I attempt to find them.

In the meantime, I’m just grateful to have begun writing again. I stopped writing after publishing something in college that became something of a spectacle to the frat I shut down (another long story), rather than what it was meant to be, which was an exploration and reclamation of my own experiences and a way to heal. I found this in a journal from around that time:

So this is my attempt: to write again, to be here, to be present and take up space in the arts and in whatever I do, and to no longer be afraid. I plan on sharing cool events I go to, experiences I have in places I never thought I’d return to, people I’ve reconnected with, and whatever might happen to pop up in between.

Thanks for being here for my Baltimore 2.0 era.

More soon <3,

Char

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