Letters

and then there are the moments…

Of memories that flash back on an otherwise beautifully perfect day even if it’s kind of rainy. The ones that show you a flash of his face as he calls you a liar in front of all the men you were raped with, held captive with, and hidden away from the world on that fateful night.

Then there are the moments of hearing his voice loud and clear as he yells “aren’t these the men who raped you?” they aren’t, but even if they were you couldn’t say that out loud, so you pretend you have no idea what he’s talking about. Only to be reminded years later, that yes, yes you do remember exactly who, and what. The knowledge that these are not the men that raped you, but you can’t tell them who because you know how it will end.

The fears that you did the wrong thing speaking out and asking for help, using names that are notoriously known, promising that in “this case”, they are in fact innocent, it wasn’t them, it was worse then the men you grew up knowing, the boys who like you had been abused in a variety of evil and terrible ways. It’s the men who hate the men you know that raped you, tied you up, drugged you and then partied with you the next night like nothing happened.

Smiled, hugged, kissed and touched you in ways they never had before, and never would again. Yeah, then there are those moments.

It’s a never ending cycle that bring no peace. I’ve slowed on my intake of weed, largely because it only helps when I’m in the mood to creatively express myself, only to bring me crashing down to reality an hour or so later.

It’s a cycle that keeps us in the gang life, a cycle that convinces us that those fleeting moments of happiness won’t last. It’s those moments of “I’ll never be happy, truly happy, again,” because we’ve forgotten what it means to be happy. That’s what keeps us tied to that life.

It’s remembering that there were people who were good to you, who love you and want the best for you that you’re afraid you’ll lose if you walk away, that’s what keeps you there. It’s the fear that outsiders won’t understand why it is you’ve spent the majority of your experience on this earth believing you were a soldier in a war, that keeps you in that gang life.

I get it, and I understand the absolute fucking irony of walking away from everyone you know who was shit to you, in order to protect the ones you love, and being and feeling completely alone and isolated from everything you know.

I completely understand why it is people stay in gang life, because life on the outside is alone and scary, filled with anxiety and pressure, depression and fear, and it can convince you that the only place you’ll ever belong is back in the gang.

I also know what it feels like, just for the record, to start crying or getting myself into a panic every time I hear fireworks or Police sirens, afraid someone I love is hurt, or dead, or worse.

I know what it feels like and I would still take all of it, before I go back to being a victim just because some douchebag wanted to destroy the family I learned to find in the darkness.

As much as I love them, it’s never ever going to be enough to get me to go back to being a victim, because that life was worse. At least here I don’t have to lie to myself, and everyone I love.

At least here in this place co-workers aren’t out telling cops that I’m dating a Hell’s Angel, (I wasn’t, by the fucking way, she was just a fucking liar with a serious grudge against me and trying desperately to get me fired. It failed.) I don’t have people wondering what I am doing and why I never have a boyfriend or calling me a slut after being raped.

At least here no one can use anything against me because I have nothing left to lose, many of you may remember that I started this blog in the middle of a psychotic break that had me telling all kinds of lies, to help my brain figure out the truth of what happened to me, and I’m still trying to figure that out. Many of you may remember I handed over several journals with the names of other victims whose names were used to hurt me the night I was raped by Justin Morris and his sick group of friends.

Many of you may remember the absolute psychotic break I had that lead to me creating this website, telling all kinds of terrible truths mixed with broken memories, that helped me figure out the truth of what was done to me the night I was gang raped.

I will never go back to that world again, because I know how bad it can get, and the pay off isn’t worth it. I’ll take my love letters and my life of single wyrdsmith living with a cat and mom in a wheelchair over a life of being a tenth class citizen every single day.

No, I don’t need a man. I need to heal. Welcome to the world of Life After Gangs, Girls. It’s not easy but it’s worth it if you’re willing to fight just as hard for something better.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall

PS.

Remember to remind me one day to tell you about the crushing reality that comes with knowing that somewhere, on some page in a world not so far away, you’re listed as “Affiliated”, that realization is fucking awesome.

Categories: Letters, Letters from Big

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