I’ve read a fair amount of Tessa’s writing. She tells people to get over their victimhood, but she frequently refers to the challenges she’s faced as a single mother, a person with Asperger’s, and a survivor of abuse.

She criticizes people on Medium who write the kind of stuff she’s written herself. She believes poetry that doesn’t rhyme isn’t poetry, but although hers rhyme, they are mediocre at best. She brags about being published as a child, but upon closer inspection, she wrote a letter to the editor published in a newspaper. Big deal. So did I but I’m passed expecting admiration for being a precocious child. I’m 63. She’s older.

Tessa is not middle aged, she’s old, poor, desperate and deeply disappointed that she hasn’t lived up to what she’s always believed her potential to be. She has a high IQ and has convinced herself that that makes her better than other people. She sees herself as equal to the literary geniuses who’ve written the great books of all time without having written one herself. In short, she’s reduced to making money by stirring up shit. I pity her.