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I’m on extended leave from the Surrey Mental Health Facility at SMH and I’m okay with it.

It’s no secret that I largely raised myself, as my brother did himself. My mom was busy being a single mother and trying to keep a home over our heads with food on the table. She did a good job at that, but it didn’t leave a lot of time for “parenting”, specifically. Which isn’t to say she wasn’t good at it, she just didn’t have any fucking help.

That’s probably why I convinced myself as a child I could handle everything on my own and why I didn’t ask for help when the abuse started. It’s probably why I started this website, I didn’t have anyone to teach me to say “no”, or how to say no I should say.

I didn’t know growing up that I was allowed to say no, so I never did. So to be honest with you, it’s no surprise to me that I finally succumbed to the stress and pressure of being me and pretending everything was okay, while simultaneously losing my fucking mind internally.

I’m actually surprised that I didn’t lose it sooner than last year, but I mean, I had to break at some point right? So why not break while sitting in your counselors office while you realize at the same moment that he was one of the men who actively participated in beating the crap out of you the night you were gang raped?! What a great time for a complete mental break down.

I had another one this year and was put into the SMH Mental Hospital and while I was pissed off that the Doctor who had me locked away lied to get me there, I will say it was needed, even if his practice is shady as fuck.

I need help, figuring out my next move, figuring out how to be happy, and healthy and successful. I need help working out some of the damage that was caused to my body mind and soul the night that I was gang raped for the very last time. (I hope the last time.)

I still have daymares, and nightmares, flashbacks and moments of curling up in my bed whimpering for my favorite person in the world hoping no one can hear me. I still have moments of crying until I can’t see straight, and I still think about suicide every single day. I live in Surrey, if I wanted to kill myself that would be easy as hell, but as we’ve learned I’ve never been good about taking the easy way out.

I like things complicated apparently, I need things to be difficult, or what’s the challenge in trying? I suppose this is a good thing, because I have zero interest in committing suicide, as much as I think about it, I have reasons not to. Not many reasons, but valid ones.

For starters, and personally the most important, who would feed the fucking cat if I died? No one that’s who, and then my mom would have two dead bodies on her hands, and I am just not comfortable leaving my wheelchair bound mother alone in this world.

So yeah I have reasons not to commit suicide, but I also have a lot of stress on my plate because I am not where I think I should be. Some days I am completely okay with that, and other days I feel like a complete and total failure.

It’s like this website, it’s fucking brilliant, and I am the only one in the Province writing a blog about a real lifestyle of insecurity, anxiety and depression, so why hasn’t anyone noticed my fucking brilliance already?

Probably because I haven’t written enough love letters, probably because no one in BC is big on blogs, maybe because they don’t know about it yet, and oh yeah because just because you’re brilliant amazing talented and a fucking genius doesn’t mean that people will agree with you, or step away from their own misery and stressors to pay attention to your obvious cry for help.

Oh yeah that.

I understand why people commit suicide, I totally get it, there are a billion reasons, sometimes the major one is that their time on this planet is just up.

I just can’t fathom letting myself sink that low, I find reasons to laugh, I find reasons to orgasm even if they don’t make sense to my brain I find reasons to find pockets of happiness, because I don’t want to fucking kill myself. I haven’t learned everything there is to learn yet, I haven’t figured out everything there is to figure out and I will be damned if my fucking obit says “she was thirty-six single and lived at home with her mom and cat.”

That will not be how I die, but that’s also because this is the decision that I make every singled day. Sometimes without noticing that I am making it, and other times with every fiber in my being even though all I want to do is completely and utterly give up.

We all make these decisions every day, some of them are automatic because we’ve trained to make our bodies act before our brains can catch up, like getting coffee. Do not speak to me before I have had coffee, it’s not a pretty sight. Don’t wake me up and ask me to do shit before I have had coffee, I am downright ugly first thing in the morning, and I appreciate this part of myself.

I appreciate that my body mind and soul need time alone before they can be there for you, whoever “you” are. I don’t care if you are my mother, first thing in the morning I need time to myself, so should I wake up earlier to help you, or should I close my door in a silent warning of “fuck off not today.”

I choose the latter regularly.

If my door is closed first thing in the morning, it means that the night before sucked and I need time to cope with myself before I can cope with the world, don’t fucking cross that threshold, leave it closed like you weren’t even here and have a great day.

If my door is open it means the night before wasn’t too terrible and I don’t mind helping you out before I’ve had my coffee, but I won’t be kind about it, because…coffee.

The point is that human beings give off all kinds of signals, often times without even realizing it, so this leads me to why I am perfectly okay with being on Extended Leave.

There are people in this world whose job it is to check on me, often, to make sure that I am doing okay and functioning alright and that I am not a danger to myself and others. Which I think is why I cut everyone else out of my life with the exception of my mom and the aforementioned cat.

There are people who are responsible for being there to guide me through this process of healing, and for right now that is all I need. I need people who are on the outside looking in who can offer me perspective and realities that I was not previously aware of needing, or interested in accepting. That’s all I need.

The important part of this post is that at about thirty-six I can finally say that I understand what I need in ways I never did before, because I took the time, and am taking the time to think about what I need without caring what anyone else thinks about my decisions.

In short, (hah) I am being selfish and fuck it feels fucking amazing.

Last night I had the strangest dream about zombies, which is fascinating because I fucking hate zombies and ironically it feels like that’s what I’ve become with pockets of awareness that are reminding me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

In my previous life as you know, I worked with homeless, so “rock bottom” was like, hard core amazingly dark and scary smoking heroine and crack kind of rock bottom to me. It never occurred to me that it didn’t have to get that far to find my happy place, and I am really grateful that I am discovering that fact.

It doesn’t have to get that bad, but it can, and I am working on this every day as hard as I can to prevent it from getting that bad.

Recently, I saw a news article about a gangster that is refusing to cooperate with the cops, he’s been shot twice and he won’t tell them who might have done it. I get that, and having had the experiences that I have, I can even respect it, but if you read this please know that I am praying for you.

I remember when J Bacon died, he was my age at the time, we were the same fucking age, recently I also read an article saying that Madison Fine was found dead in a hotel room of an overdose. I don’t want to end up like that, but I can understand how she did, I can understand the fear and stress of someone you love constantly being in danger.

I can understand the hope that things will get better, and the need to escape when they don’t, I feel that to my core, but it doesn’t have to end up with you being dead, because I also understand what it feels like when you find out your friend died in a fucking parking lot and no one was there to help him. Because, Gang Violence.

You can ask for help, and it doesn’t matter what people think about you when you do, fuck what they think if you need help please go ask for it, because I really don’t want to read about you dead in the street, because you deserve better than that life.

Violence doesn’t have to be the way any more, you can remove yourself peacefully, you can walk away and go find a new life somewhere else if that’s what it takes, you can get out of that world, other’s before you have done it, I don’t know how but they did.

If you are feeling scared, anxious or depressed, please ask for help, you don’t have to do this alone…as I recently learned, I’m not alone, and it feels pretty good to know that regardless of the reason, people care about whether or not I still exist in this world.

I love you, with all my love, always forever eternally,

Devon J Hall

 

 

 

 

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