Talking to strangers online helped me feel less lonely. But I was sliding toward disaster

This First Person article is the experience of RaeAnne Ellert, who lives in Regina. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see  the FAQ. 

I was lying on my bed with my laptop one evening when a new friend request popped up on Skype. I didn’t know who it was, but I accepted out of curiosity and a love of meeting new people.

Let’s call this stranger Mark. He immediately sent me a message and we started chatting about life.

Maybe this unsolicited friend request should have rung an alarm bell in my mind. 

When I was a kid, my mom and dad had rules around chat rooms, warning me about the dangers of talking to strangers. I did listen for the first little while, but when I was 13, I started sending emails to musicians, their partners and their management. I loved it when they responded, particularly since it was a struggle to connect with my peers in the real world.

What you should know about me is that I was born with a rare genetic mutation — so rare it doesn’t have a name and is only known as duplication 10p12.33p11.23.

My disability makes it hard for me to multitask and it takes me longer to do things. I have a short stature, poor dexterity and get overwhelmed easily. Like many neurodivergent kids, I was perceived as different, and I had a hard time making friends. I loved listening to tunes, but my peers said my taste was “old people music,” which left me feeling excluded. 

At the time Mark sent me that friend request, I was in my 20s and living in a small town and had become socially isolated. My relationships with the musicians I’d corresponded with over the internet were a lifeline at that point. A musician named John from Toronto turned out to be a friend I really needed.

When I told John about the friend request on Skype, John immediately got back to me saying there were warning signs the stranger was a scammer and to block him right away. 

“But he never asked for money,” I wrote.

Mark and I had only spoken for an hour at that point.  

“That’s how they work. They will be very friendly to you, then ask you for money,” John said. 

Trusting John, I promptly blocked the stranger and kept the lesson to myself. I was confused and embarrassed, but  I was grateful that John had my best interests at heart.

I couldn’t see the irony in the moment, in the fact that like a scammer, I myself had spent years messaging people I didn’t know.

In the depths of my isolation and depression, at one point I pushed things too far, continuing to send messages to a musician even though he’d told me to stop. I caused irreparable damage before realizing how badly I’d messed up and backing off. I learned a lot about grace and forgiveness through that situation. 

When I hear stories about scammers, I wonder how someone could fall for them. Then I remember how I might have been easy prey for a scammer myself. I live on $1,500 a month in provincial and federal assistance. Desperation can do some wild things to a person. Just like loneliness can. 

But I found a way through.

My support workers had been encouraging me to get out more, and I started travelling to Regina to attend music festivals and shows. During the COVID-19 pandemic, I moved and made the city my home. 

My world opened up, being able to see live music and my favourite local bands and musicians play. I met other writers as well as others who were neurodivergent like me and even wrote a book about growing up with a disability.

While attending a concert last March, I looked around and saw so many familiar faces — people I’d met over the years since moving to Regina. As the music played, I noticed everyone enjoying it together. At that moment, I felt like I truly belonged.

I also still keep in touch with John. Although we haven’t met in person yet, I still hold out hope that we will one day. Until then, I’ll keep listening to his music. I almost lost faith in people several times in my life, but John was among those that taught me genuine connections are out there — you just have to work to find them.

Scammers look for vulnerability, but so do good people; the difference is that the good ones give, not take.

I’ve learned through these experiences to stay cautious, stay kind, and most importantly, stay hopeful.

Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Email [email protected] to learn more.