I’ve been doing this for nine years now, and I don’t think I’ve done my job properly.

I don’t think I’ve even begun to scratch the surface of the patient experience, especially because I am still hearing that there are other patients out there experiencing racial and medical bias by doctors who are not just uninformed, but woefully so.

My own doctor asked me this week if “Cannabis was contributing to my paranoia.” In reality, it’s the only thing that calms my paranoia. What is contributing to the paranoia, however, are threats of lawsuits and beatings if I don’t stop talking about the issues that are affecting girls in Surrey, BC, specifically.

I don’t talk about them because they don’t really “scare” me, but they do happen. It makes my circle, and I laugh, because any form of retribution from any direction proves my claims true and only adds to the growing body of evidence we have against those trying to silence me.

A fact I’ve repeatedly explained to the doctors, and in some cases, even demonstrated to prove my claims. To no avail.

I have scars on my body that can be explained. I have memories in my head that have merit, but still, it is much easier to vilify the victim than it is to go after the abuser, and so that’s what cops and doctors do. Often working in tandem to discredit the victim or gaslight them into behaving in ways they wouldn’t if their trauma were properly addressed.

It can be exhausting to the point of soul-crushing to be a patient with mental health issues. Especially when at the beginning of your journey, you know damned well you don’t have issues, you’re just overwhelmed by life.

The issues develop as they go undiagnosed and untreated, and the worse it gets, the worse your behaviour gets because you’re trying to exorcise the shit you’re holding onto, and while everyone’s looking at you like you’re nuts, all you’re really doing is saying “Please fucking help me.”

I remember those days, and they were exhausting. I was perfectly fine until I came forward with my story, then the things that I had ignored, the issues I hadn’t dealt with, came forward like a Tsunami.

The only thing that brought my mind some peace and some calm was cannabis, and no matter how many times folks try to vilify this plant, I will completely stand by the idea that cannabis has made my life better, because I’m not in a hospital and I haven’t hurt anyone.

I’m calmer, more at peace, and a lot more gentle than I would be without it, and we know this because over these last nine years we’ve experimented with me not taking it. Not on purpose, but more often because I ran out, and when I did, the panic attacks, the stress, anxiety, and depression shoved me into a dark hole I thought I couldn’t escape from.

I’d curl on my head for days on end, shaking until I couldn’t see straight, imagining that people were coming and going from my room, thinking I was being raped, screaming for hours on end, not cleaning, and on top of it all, I was coming forward with my story and building the foundation of this blog.

I love that I am the Loud Mouth Brown Girl. I don’t know who I’d be without her by my side, but I also know that this blog has helped other people in these last nine years.

I am fully aware that people believe that I am *doing the damned thing,* and are proud of me, and that keeps me humble. That reminds me that I have a lot of people cheering me on, pushing me forward, educating me when I need to be educated, and showing me paths I didn’t even know I’d have the option of taking.

I am really proud of the years that I’ve been able to write this blog, and I look forward to many more years of growth and evolution, abundance, friendship, laughter, joy, and love.

I know the coming years are going to be difficult, but as the little one inside my head often says, “You’ve survived everything the universe has thrown at you to this point, who says it’s going to be worse than that?” That’s a very good point that I have to remind myself of a lot.

It was as dark and as disturbing and creepy as it could get. No place was safe, not school, church, home, the streets became my friend long before I started helping the people who lived there.

I’ve smoked cigarette butts, I’ve eaten free food, I’ve done all kinds of things I never thought I’d have to do just to survive the worst the world had to offer. Just to get to a place where I get to struggle more, because the folks who have authority over people like me choose not to believe us.

A few months ago, I spoke with a Psych Nurse, who on the spot diagnosed me with a mood disorder, “Bitch,” she said, “You don’t have schizophrenia, you have a mood disorder,” says this little old lady who worked in the Psych world for more than fifty years.

It’s not necessarily that I believe this random person (there’s a story I don’t want to tell), it’s that if it is true, it adds credence to my belief that Doctors often don’t know what the fuck they are talking about when it comes to mental health, because why? Say it with me:

“MENTAL HEALTH IS A BABY SCIENCE”

We are only just beginning to learn what horrible things people have to go through to survive. While the story by James Frey was proven to be a lie, that doesn’t change the fact that people go through really deeply fucked up traumas.

It’s not enough to say, “This person is too unhealthy to be left alone; they have to be locked up.” You have to actually provide the services folks need, so they can get the help they need to be productive.

There are no organizations that work with women where I live who have been traumatized or who have experienced living on the DTES.

There are very few organizations across the province that give access and autonomy to women who have been stalked, abused, and raped by the men and boys in their lives. Why? BECAUSE WE’RE PRETENDING IT’S NOT HAPPENING.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I AM GOING TO CRASH THE FUCK OUT!

I feel like this blog has been one big experiment in screaming into the void. I am unsure of what steps to take to achieve the goals I have, and the reason for that is that I have so much trauma work to do, and no one to help me.

So, all this to say, if you’re just discovering that you or someone you love may have mental health issues, good luck; you’re basically on your own until you crash out.

XOXO

Devon J Hall

The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl

I only have a few days, but I’m selling two of my books on Ko-Fi as Digital Downloads for $5.00, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look and consider grabbing a copy or two.