Just before the end of 2018, I spent four days in the Surrey Memorial Hospital, not because I am insane or crazy, but because I genuinely needed to speak with a psychiatrist about the things that I have experienced over the last twenty-four years.
When the nurse would hand out medications, she always said “these will help with your thoughts,” I found that incredibly laughable, largely because the nurse had zero idea what I was thinking, and I’ve decided to share that here because I am only just now beginning to figure it out myself.
In the Surviving R Kelly documentary, they talked about how when the girls were not around Robert, they became like robots, zombies, as if they had lost a part of themselves, this is the first sign that someone is a victim.
We get so stuck in “survivor” mode, that even when our abusers are not around us, we forget everything else, because we’re too focused on ensuring that our abusers have all of our energy. Everything we do in those moments is about survival, it’s about ensuring that our Abuser has our entire focus, which leaves little time for anything but that moment when we are with our abuser, so we can feel a moment of…release.
A few years back I was working at a Church, and one of the volunteers was a 7th day Adventist, who used to delight in trying (and largely failing) to quote the bible, to give me reasons as to why I am evil.
As someone who has studied every inch of the bible, who remembered most of the stories by heart, and who has in her own mind traveled through time and space to try and understand the roles of women in the world of “God,” he failed…miserably, to convince me that I was evil. Until I realized, that he actually had not.
Have you ever seen that show “Weird addictions?” I could have been an entire episode on that show, because I used to eat salt like it was going out of style. Largely because I was convinced that I had a demon inside of me, and eating salt would somehow get rid of it.
I mean I would eat it by the fucking spoon fulls, this is what spiritual abuse does to a person who is also a victim of emotional, mental, sexual and physical abuse. I continuously tried to avoid dealing with my issues, largely because it meant admitting that there was not a single area of my life that was even remotely comparable to “safe“.
This person, this “Christian,” once asked me what my spirituality (Witchcraft) did for me, in all honesty it really made me think about the roles of women in the world. When my mom dyed her hair bright pink, he told her that was a sign she was going to hell.
He would continuously find reasons to remind us both that neither of us were pious, and while I’d love to say that the men in my Krisya circle are different, the truth is that men have a seriously hard time letting women find and embrace their own power.
That’s exactly how Christianity became a thing in the first place – back in the day it was women who were the Spiritual Leaders, it was woman who understood the fundamentals of working with plants, with the elements to provide everything humans needed to survive the wilds of nature.
Until men decided that they were God’s and women were Earth. Until men decided that women should lay there and take their shit and to do as they are told. Even as I write this, I hear the voice of my mister, my Master telling me when I am on the right track, even as that track pulls me away from him.
Being released from the control of my abusers sounds like a healthy thing, until I realize there is a part of me that wants to return to the world where I am under his control, until I realize that I still miss the comfort of his embrace.
It’s what I know, it’s what I am comfortable with, it’s what I am used to. For the last two years I’ve been living in a world wherein I was free from his abuse, from his control, I was able to do and go wherever I wanted, be with whomever I wanted to be, and I had genuine freedom.
It wasn’t until I was arrested on an Airplane that I realized why it was I’d had the panic attack in the first place. It wasn’t because of the racism I’d experienced in Fredrickton, NB, it wasn’t because I had spent five days being made to feel every terrible thing that Black women in America feel, it was because I didn’t want to come back here.
I didn’t want to come home, because I knew that we’d made a deal, I would receive two years of peace and quiet while the men who were trying to help me escape the sex cult did what they needed to do to gather the evidence against Branson and the others.
My time was up, I had promised them that in two years if they were able to prove everything I was saying, I would come forward, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be the crazy girl who admitted that out of the twenty or more men who have touched my body, more than half of them were paid to rape me.
I didn’t want to admit that I had been lying to every person I loved since I was fifteen, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to admit that I blamed God for what happened to me.
My relationship with God when I was a child was sacred to me, and yet no matter how many times I tried to keep the faith, there was always a man who was there to remind me that what I wanted, what I needed, was less important then what they wanted or needed.
In Krisya we have something called “the touching game“, it’s a way for us to communicate without actually being in the same room, and while it’s complicated to explain I am going to try my best.
It’s a way of touching each other so that we have “pre-programmed” messages, so that when we’re not around each other we can almost hear what the other person might say.
For instance when I call “Karey” a prick, I feel a sharp prick somewhere on my body, as if to remind me that I am moving in the right direction. Under my left knee I can feel where Bill tapped “yes” over and over again, when I ask a question I already know the answer to, or “no” on my ankle, another sharp pain.
This is used to help us remember our place in the world, but it can also be used as a form of control. When they talked about “The Black Room” on Surviving R Kelly, I remember having a room identical to that, except that rather than having a room painted black, they used to turn off the lights so I couldn’t see. Just as an added measure, they would also blindfold me, to ensure that I really, really could not see.
These physical reactions to the things I think, feel or say are incredibly controlling and incredibly dangerous, and it reminds me that to this day I am still controlled both by the men I love, and the men who abused me for years.
Spiritual abuse is nothing short of psychological warfare and it’s the most dangerous kind, because while you’re busy trying to figure out where you stand as a woman, where you stand as a survivor, your “thoughts” are still controlling you, and it’s not something that can be solved by medication.
The only thing that can help you survive this kind of bullshit, is to continue to remind yourself that you are not controlled by them any more…except that I am, because I promised that no matter what, come hell or high water I would return one last time, to pull out my friend, and the man I love.
Sitting in my home alone, without anyone here, I cannot to this day masturbate without feeling guilty for not thinking about my “Master” when I do. I can’t fart without saying excuse me…even though no one is home, and to understand how terrible this is, I used to genuinely fear that if I passed Gas I was going to go to hell.
The most basic body functions, the most basic human needs are denied to me because of the abusers that decided they deserved the right to control everything I am, think, could think or should be, because they were born with a penis and I was not.
This is the checklist that I just found to see what I can say I’ve experienced the ones that are “bold” are things I have NOT experienced:
|THREATS AND PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE
|ANGER AND INTIMIDATION
Thank you to Maggie’s Resource for this amazing checklist.
This is all in of itself, Psychological Warfare.
To this day I still have trouble having a shower with the light on, or going to the bathroom with the light on. I can’t stand the sight of my own body, I can’t touch my own body without feeling disgusted because it’s “wrong” for a woman to appreciate her body.
I didn’t used to be like this, I used to love and embrace my body, until I remembered what happened to me, and how long it took for me to escape, and how many people had to come together before I could escape.
This is what it means when we talk about Spiritual abuse, because it’s not just your body that this shit affects, it is your entire being, it’s everything you are and could be, it’s the life of a woman just trying to survive the abuse of the Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit.
So to end this post, I can only say this, in the name of the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit, I am done being controlled one way or the other, by any man in my life, and that includes God.
This doesn’t change that I believe in God, that I even love God, but it no longer means I am willing to accept the idea that what I want, what I need, my body mind and soul are somehow less deserving of respect and privacy because I wasn’t born with a penis.
I will never trust any man who says he is a God, largely because that makes me believe that he thinks he is somehow above me…and the God I love and believe in, understands that while All Men Need God, that doesn’t mean that they have the right to compare themselves to the Almighty Creator.
We are beings of spiritual awareness, and the sooner that we realize in order for there to be true balance, we must respect men and women equally, we shall never be free.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall