Abuse

Sometimes You Just Gotta Write Every Single Thought Down So You Don’t Forget Where You Were, When It Happened

Today is one of those majickal days when I know that I am absolutely meant to be a writer, and that as much as I hate the idea of being an “internet celebrity”, because that just feels wrong, it’s part of the journey when it comes to following my dreams.

In twenty years I am going to look back at this specific post – I know this for a fact – and I am going to smile, because today is one of those majickal days. Today is the day that I realize as much pain as I was in last night, as many times as I wished to die, I am glad that I didn’t take that suicide ideation and make it a reality.

I feel like dancing – I fucking won’t, because I am not that girl who breaks into dance unless I am super high – but it’s been a long time since I have felt like this. Part of it is the weed, and part of it is the fact that I crawled out of bed today, barely a human, and without realizing it, went immediately into my morning routine.

Go to the bathroom and get coffee are the only two thoughts inside my head when I wake up, even if I am talking to you, my brain isn’t really registering what I am saying, or hearing, because I haven’t finished doing the two most important things in the world to me. Bathroom and coffee.

Once that’s done I can sit down at my computer, open it up, check emails and messages, and my schedule to see what has to get done.

Today is one of those days where none of my mental health bullshit matters. My Krisya Ohana family and their drama? Not my business, not interested in it, my mom and her stuff? nope that doesn’t matter either, today is all about me. Today is about me looking at the body of work that I have put together and being proud that it only exists, because I created it.

Sometimes I feel weird about saying that I am a “creator” because the idea of being a creator is so massive, it’s so huge, it’s almost God like in the fact that the word exists on the same level as the word “God”.

A creator creates, and shows the world stuff the world has never seen before, and that’s powerful, it’s inspiring and it’s challenging, and it’s kind of scary because what if the world doesn’t like what you’ve created?

There’s a scene in Luke Cage where one of the characters says “looks like it doesn’t want to be a barber shop anymore,” like they’re saying “well that’s a sign it’s time to move on,” and that makes me sad.

The stuff that I have now, the world that I’ve created within the confines of this website are so deeply personal to me, that the idea of moving on from the Loud Mouth Brown Girl terrifies me. Who would I be if I wasn’t she? I exist because she exists, because we are one and the same. Devon J Hall is now synonymous with the phrase Loud Mouth Brown Girl, and then I reign it back in to remember that I am not going anywhere yet, I am still she.

I am yes the girl who got arrested on a WestJet airplane for having a panic attack, I am the girl who was beaten, raped, tortured, abused, kidnapped, viciously violated, and today of all days I am as my new friend Rev Kelly called me, a superhero. I have fought actual demons and lived to tell the tale, but some days I wish I hadn’t.

Some days the battle is mental and emotional, and that’s the scariest part because when your battle is internal you aren’t fighting demons, you’re fighting yourself and that’s fucking difficult, because how do you lose a fight against yourself? How do you win a battle against yourself?

They say it’s all about finding balance, but what the fuck does that even mean? Balance where? clean more? walk more? nature more? exercise more? I’m too tired for that shit, so I do the bare minimum because that’s what I am capable of, and fuck anyone who says I should be doing more.

Trauma has taken a lot out of me, whole chunks of my body, soul, and mind, are missing from the person that I am. I don’t masturbate anymore – largely because anything I fantasize about brings me feelings of internal shame and guilt, “if I like this, does that mean I liked being raped?” is a constant theme in my head. Not being able to masturbate means I feel like I am disconnected from my sexuality, which in turn means my spirit feels completely out of whack.

And on and on it trickles down, into other areas of my life, I smoke too much because I am sexually frustrated, I can’t walk as far or as long as I used to because I smoke too much, and so continues the cycle of self abuse. Some people drink, I smoke.

It works for my mental health, but does it really? And then the “today, this moment,” happens and I pour all of that extra into my writing and it puts a bandaid on the hurt for a little while, until the next trigger, until the next moment, until the next memory binge.

So the cycle continues and I honestly can’t say that I’ve figured a way out of it, but what I do know is that not having direct access to men for the last year has done wonders for my ability to say no. For my ability to stand up for myself and say “I don’t like this, and I don’t want it just because you think I should.” Even when people don’t listen to me, I refuse to back down when I feel the need to say “no.”

Today is a majickal day because I fucking decided it was. I took the garbage out, I got the dishes ready for washing, and as soon as I am done writing for the day I am going to get them done so that I can make them dirty again by making myself something glorious for lunch, because I’ve fucking earned the right to make myself a delicious meal.

Today is a majickal day, and twenty years from now I am going to look back at this post and think “I am so proud of her, because of her I exist,” whatever comes next good, bad, ugly, or indifferent, will be a blessing, because it’s all a part of the journey.

The journey is messy and sometimes downright ugly as fuck, but it’s worth it, for a myriad of reasons, because it helps me, because it helps others, and because no matter what anyone can or will say about me, I live authentically, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Dreams coming true will do that to you, even if the reality isn’t as beautiful as the dream, it’s still a dream that came true, and you can’t argue that.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall

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