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Something is missing…and I am not sure what it is.

I’ve never felt like this before, I mean sure I’ve always figured that I am a little out of whack with the universe, but in this particular case I feel like I missing out on something, and I am not sure what it is.

Until this moment I was specifically quite happy with how my life has turned out so far. I mean the bad shit not withstanding, I’m still alive and I am doing okay, I am healing and learning a lot about myself, but still there it is. A tiny ball in the pit of my stomach that something important is missing from my life.

Granted I am broke as fuck and if it weren’t for my mom and the government I’d be homeless, so my scale is a little out of whack, but still, something is missing and I don’t know what it is.

I have a friend on Twitter who is homeless, and is documenting his experience as he goes along his journey, and recently he said he didn’t really want to know his purpose. He kind of just wanted to get through from one day to the next and be in the moment.

I really respect that, and until recently that’s how I felt but now I am starting to get an ache in my belly for something more than this.

I have dreams and hopes and wishes, all of which revolve around me being a writer, and writing the next great novel. Becoming the Black J.K. Rollings, and making my billions on a story so great that it spans time and space.

I am clearly a writer. I can’t seem to be happy unless I am writing, it’s like a high like no other. Granted I’m stoned as I write this, and I am working with a group of women involved in Cannibus, that’s helping, but that’s also not it.

I have spent my entire life wanting to be a wife and a mother, and until recently I was certain that was just around the corner. Once the memories started coming back however, I decided I didn’t want a relationship anymore.

The idea of kissing a man sends a revolting shock down my spine that has my whole body shaking off the very idea. It’s stressful trying to figure out how I could or would ever explain to a prospective lover all the things I have been through.

It’s frustrating too, because there is a whole part of me that is dictated by the fact that I survived being a victim of several serial sexual deviants who decided my life and my needs didn’t matter to them.

I’ve been called a whore, slut, cartel bitch and any number of insults that never really stuck, but this idea of being lazy is starting to stick and it’s pissing me off.

My body is starting to show the wear and tear of being abused and beaten and tortured. The physical and emotional scars are finally starting to sink in and I am starting to realize how many times I would hurt myself after being raped, so I wouldn’t forget that my scars really and truly mean something. 

Even if I didn’t know how or why I had scarred myself, the fact that I had it meant something important had happened to me in my life. A reminder that my skin both in scar form and tattoo form showed the story of my life. One way or another there is a mark on my body for every single time I have been sexually abused.

My body is a road map to the life that I have lived, and even as I know this, I feel the weight of that on my shoulders and spine every day.

The more I begin to understand who I used to be, the more I begin to understand who I want and more importantly, need to be.

I need to be someone who is active in the world, and yet even saying that I realize how bad my social anxiety has gotten. At Christmas time I spent the entire holiday making fun of my brother but not really -feeling- like it. I was being mean and petty and I don’t understand where it came from.

Okay sure I have some underlying resentment, but for the most part my brother was really nice to me at Christmas, and it was lovely to see him, and yet I couldn’t find myself interested in being nice.

The other day I ran into Damon Beatty and I couldn’t talk to him, I actually walked away and let him talk to my mom because I got so suddenly nervous. How the fuck do I explain this to potential employers?

My only solution is to make sure that my writing takes off, because the worse this gets the harder it is for me to be around people, even and especially when it’s someone I like or respect.  I am losing my ability to communicate in a normal healthy way with other adults.

This is what the isolation is doing to me, so it’s clear and obviously no wonder that something is missing.

I don’t know if it is a person a place or a thing, but I hope I find it soon, because I don’t like this feeling of missing out. I want to enjoy my life to the absolute best of my abilities so that I can go back to doing what I like to do which is helping others. I want to be healthy again. Maybe that’s where my frustration is coming from.

Whatever it is I just hope I figure it out soon.

Wish me luck,

Sending all my love,

Devon J hall

 

 

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