My sister took her life after online abuse at 21 – I will never be the same

Yahoo

a day ago

If my sister Aimee and I were a Venn diagram, the internet was our intersecting centre. We grew up in Southampton and spent every summer in north Turkey, in the small coastal village Edincik, where our mum is from. While we shared the same interests – music, fashion and food – our tastes were different, and online was where they flourished.
I always loved second-hand clothes, having practically been raised in charity shops. I grew up cutting out and sticking pages out of Elle magazine to my bedroom walls, and was obsessed with America's Next Top Model, meaning I could name designer brands more confidently than recalling my eight times tables. I was drawn to the early YouTube pioneers – Zoella, Glozell and Jenna Marbles – and I looked up to them for being fully themselves online, at an age where I felt unseen and misunderstood, like so many teenagers do.
Aimee, on the other hand, was far more unique – she'd found out she was neurodivergent in her teens. She was way ahead in terms of her taste in music: as a 14-year-old, she was fixated by Pharrell Williams's bands N.E.R.D and The Neptunes, and her curious mind led her to discover the likes of Sade, Kelis, Stevie Wonder, Ice Cube, Tyler, The Creator and Kaytranada.
As a teen, Aimee taught herself Japanese, and immersed herself in the food and culture of the country, becoming obsessed with sushi and artists such as Takashi Murakami, which led to her travelling to Japan solo when she was just 18.
Sharing my love for thrifting, Aimee sourced rare, collectable Pharrell merchandise, saving up all of her money from part-time jobs to bid in international eBay wars against veteran collectors. She always won.
Aimee was brave and bold, and unapologetic in her passions, despite not sharing them with others at school, which marked her as different at an age where being cool meant following the crowd. This was what drew her to social media. Having faced bullying at school, like many neurodivergent teens, Aimee was attracted to online communities that shared her interests. She discovered Grindin', a forum for Pharrell fans. We were glad that she had found a community where she finally felt accepted, and had a space where she could fully express herself and connect with others.
Being Gen Z, part of the guinea-pig generation that grew up as children without smartphones but who then got them as teens, both my sister Aimee and I were avid users of social media from its early inception. We would spend hours as teens scrolling on Tumblr, photographing each other in our best outfits on holiday for Instagram, messaging friends on Snapchat. It wasn't the centre of our world, but it occupied a huge part of our adolescence: our online profiles were an extension of ourselves.
But in the pandemic, this social media community soon became a double-edged sword. Aimee was at the tricky in-between stage of having finished college and not knowing her next step, and she retreated further online during lockdown. Being cut off from the things that she loved doing – going to art exhibitions, attending gigs and festivals, and eating out with her boyfriend – drastically impacted Aimee's mental health.
Spending more and more time in her room, she became withdrawn and removed from us. She split from her boyfriend, stopped going out and was no longer interested in the treasured Pharrell-related belongings she had invested so many years collecting. When I'd try to connect with her, or spark a conversation, she seemed distant. This went on for a year. When she was at her most unwell, she was drawn into the dark side of the internet.
In October 2022, the unimaginable happened. My parents were met with a knock on the door from two police officers informing us that Aimee had died. She had been found in a hotel room more than 60 miles from our home town, with a stranger from the United States. We later found out from police that Aimee had been on a partners thread, where members of this forum seek out others to end their lives with. The man who she was found with had been with Aimee for 11 days in the hotel room, and had told authorities he was 'working' during that time.
All I can remember from the weeks that followed is a blur of words that seemed wrong being used in the same sentence as Aimee's name; words you only ever hear in crime drama series: investigation, incriminating evidence, assisted suicide, inquest, coroner, family liaison officer. It was clear to me that there was so much more beneath the surface to uncover, how none of the piecemeal bits of information the police told us about the circumstances surrounding Aimee's sudden death added up.
We still have countless unanswered questions, questions detectives have failed to answer, and which the pending inquest may not even explore. As a family, we have learnt more about the circumstances of Aimee's death from journalists than we have from the police.
Sadly, we only learnt what was happening in her online world after it was too late. Aimee was just 21 when we lost her. We found out after she died, that Aimee had been on a forum which actively encourages people to take their lives, instructing them and even providing the means for them to do so. This forum has taken at least 50 UK lives, including my sister. From looking at the forum myself, I can see just how easy it is to end up in a rabbit hole of despair, where vulnerable users are told their loved ones don't care about them.
Essentially, Aimee was radicalised by a toxic network into taking a decision that she could never return from. These are known as 'Com networks', and the National Crime Agency has even set up a taskforce dedicated to investigating men who target vulnerable women and girls and pressure them into acts of self-harm.
Being informed by police that Aimee died in a hotel room with a stranger who she met on this forum, and who flew from the US to witness her death, still haunts me. Knowing that Aimee's vulnerability was preyed on, and that others like her could fall victim to the same circumstances, is why, as a journalist and campaigner, I now channel my efforts into advocating for online safety and tech accountability.
Since losing Aimee, I've spoken in the European parliament, met with the UK Tech Secretary with fellow bereaved families, protested outside Meta HQ, signed letters to the Prime Minister, all to advocate for better safeguards online. Speaking up about sibling grief and sudden loss is immensely hard and takes a toll, and sometimes I guiltily wish that this wasn't how I was spending my 20s. None of this will bring my sister back, but even if speaking up saves one life, then it is worth it.
Until I lost my sister, I never knew the scale of risk that exists online, and the number of bereaved families who are fighting to tackle them. Being part of that fight, I now know that people who are vulnerable offline – children, women, people with mental health issues, neurodivergent people – are more vulnerable online, too. We urgently need a greater public awareness of the scale of harm already taking place, if we are to build a safer digital world for young people.
Most children today will experience some type of online harm. What's vital is that they know they can communicate openly and honestly with you about their experiences. Make sure your children know that it is not their fault if something bad happens to them online, and encourage them to come to you or a teacher if something has upset or scared them on social media.
The Online Safety Act is at a pivotal point in its enforcement right now. You can email your MP to demand that platforms of all sizes are subject to the fullest force of the Act.
While I don't think a smartphone ban is the solution to online harm, it will ensure that children have to best chance to experience their childhood fully in the offline world. This is vital if they are to grow into confident, resilient and empowered young people. There is great strength in numbers – the more parents who support a delay in social media use, the better.
R;pple is a secure and confidential free web extension tool that intercepts online searches for self-harm and suicide, diverting users away from content that puts them at risk. Created by Alice Hendy MBE, who lost her brother Josh to suicide, R;pple is a life-saving tool that proves technology can be designed with user wellbeing at the core.
Logging Off: The Human Cost of Our Digital World by Adele Zeynep Walton is (Trapeze, £20) is available now.
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