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The Tribeless Gypsy

Traditionally, Gypsy girls stay at home and cook and clean, but I wanna be independent. Every modern day Gypsy girl feels that way, in their own heart, okay maybe not every gypsy girl, I do…I don’t want to stay at home all day and cook and clean while I wait for my person to show up with the bacon for me to cook for his lunch tomorrow, and yet it’s exactly what we do.

My aunt does it for my uncle, I do it for my mom, both my aunt and I work from home, her with her medical transcription, me with this blog. She’s not waiting for a man to save her, she’s living her life the way she wants to live her life.

If I’d been a true Gypsy girl I’d have been married at sixteen, like the girls in my stories. All of the Cavanaugh/Badis/Damascus women have been married or in long term relationships with their person since their early teens.

If I’d been a true Gypsy girl I’d have had a massive coming out party for my sixteenth birthday filled with brightly colored dresses covered in gems and boys wanting to marry me.

Instead I wasn’t that girl, I was the girl who got raped a lot, and when I finally got the courage to share my story, I was certified Psychotic, for saying that it was in fact a gang rape, orchestrated by men who wanted me to tell the world that the Bacon brothers did it, when I know for a fact that was a lie.

That’s the life I got, it’s the life of a Tribeless Gypsy. I didn’t have any big boys to protect me from the bad guys, I didn’t have any brothers or cousins to come to my rescue when the shit hit the fan, and the more I watch this stupid American Gypsy Wedding bullshit, the more I feel bitter and angry that I somehow lost out on that lottery.

I lost out on the lottery of protection and being loved, somehow my family was so busy helping each other, it sort of feels like they forgot about me, and I know some people in my family might disagree, but none the less it’s how I feel and I’m not entirely sure how to get past that.

I’m trying, I really am trying to find a place of happiness in the emptiness that I am now surrounded by, and yes I do have pockets, but depression is a fucking ice cold bitch with an iron grip on my life right now.

Some days I feel a little less like shit, and then I go out and do stuff, come home and have ridiculous nightmares of what happened to me. Triggered memories that Eve Dallas herself would understand.

I don’t have anyone to curl up next to, I don’t have a Dragon Slayer or a King Slayer to protect me from the pain in my mind and I get angry at men like all the time.

I used to have a really good friend, until I realized that my really good friend wasn’t exactly a very good friend, she was just there. She didn’t treat me the way she’d treat other people, when I told her I had a miscarriage her response was “at least you don’t have to deal with him forever…” no fuck you, that’s not how you respond when someone tells you they lost a child.

I spent three hours once talking to her about what it’s really like to be Black, on a sky train, and I felt so bad I apologized to the woman who sat next to me, who replied with, “no, thank you, I actually needed to hear your experience.” My so called best friend told me she just doesn’t see it.

People innately are not kind, it’s a life lesson, learning to be kind, learning to see other peoples experience, learning to understand that sometimes you have to actually try to be emphatic. You can’t just say “I’m an empath”, you actually have to live it, and that’s something I struggle with every single day. Largely because I’m not perfect, but also because I’m incredibly selfish. I’ve been taught to be selfish by people who were cruel and awful to me, and the thought of getting married today? Scares the crap out of me.

I trust no one, and I mean absolutely no one with my secrets, there are plenty of people who know my secrets, but I don’t trust them. I don’t trust them because I’ve spent a life time learning that the people who say “I love you,” are the very same people who are going to beat the living hell out of you in the next breath.

I’ve learned too many times that the people who pretend to want you around, are the same ones that will tie you up and rape you while threatening the lives of your friends and family if you say anything. Too many times I’ve been abused and you have the nerve to tell me that I’m a bitch? No. What I am is a fucking Survivor. I fought a war that no one even knew was happening and I did it by my damned self while keeping the secret of what was done to us as children, by myself. I didn’t tell a teacher, a counselor, I didn’t tell a parent or a friend what was going on because I wasn’t allowed.

At the age of sixteen I was protecting every person I love from an abusive sociopathic rapist who liked to rape me and beat on me with hammers, nails and baseballs. I went through that without ever saying a single word and the only word you can use to describe me is “Bitch?” Baby I’m a fucking soldier, a warrior and you have nothing on me that I haven’t already told the world.

My fear isn’t that I am going to end up alone, it’s that the night terrors and day-meres are never going to go away. It’s that I will pass these fears onto my future children, should I ever decide to have any. It’s that the person I spend the rest of my life with is going to have to get used to the fact that in very real ways I am broken and I will never be “normal” or “fixed” again.

I am not the typical Romanian Gypsy girl, but I am a Romanian Creole Gypsy girl, for whatever that counts. So I may not get the traditional Gypsy husband or wedding, but I’m okay with that, but don’t ever, ever consider me as weak or pathetic, because I am not those things. I am healing, and if you can’t handle that, if you can’t handle that I would rather choose to do this alone then without a bunch of people telling me what I don’t need while simultaneously trying to turn me into something that they feel is “appropriate”, then I’m okay with that too.

I’d rather be a friendless loser than surround myself with people who don’t understand me, or who don’t care to back off when I ask them too. And while yes, I’ve received death threats, that isn’t going to stop me from continuing to be the loudest mouthiest brownest girl on the planet, because that’s who I am. I know who I am and I appreciate this person the best that I possibly can. Do you?

Sending all my love to the other Tribeless Gypsy Girls out there,

Devon J Hall


 

 

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Every five dollars helps me create ten hand written love letters that I can deliver to either the Vancouver Pace Society, or the Surrey BC Women's Center to help lift up those who need a little love. If you donate today I'll make sure they know who the letters came from. Thank you in advance for your support.

C$5.00

 

 

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