Some People Are Just…Exasperating

In general.

Today a guy told me a thing, and all I could think is “why did you just use a bunch of words to tell me that you have a big dick?” I don’t care? I am uninterested in this information.

I remember that a few years ago, something similar happened in a party situation, and I looked across the table to tell a guy “thank you for telling me you have a big dick. What would you like me to do with this information?” Everyone sat there stunned for a moment and then people just started laughing, but seriously, like why?

Do you think about the words you are about to say before you say them? Or do you just speak to hear yourself talk? Do you feel the need to be congratulated on every thought inside your head, not because you voiced the thought out loud, but because you had the thought in the first place? Do you really think that having thoughts makes you special?

We all have thoughts, we all have things that change the way we see the world in both massive and very tiny ways. Each of us is growing into a new person with every second that we breath while we’re on this planet, but we don’t all share every thought that is in our brain.

I do because I’m a Blogger, and a writer, and an author, that is my job. I am here specifically to write about what I’ve seen, and to put what I’ve seen into words for other people to read, so that one day in the archives of the universe, everything that I’ve ever written will always be there. I won’t be able to take the words that I say now, back after I’m dead, and for some reason I am thinking very clearly about that in this moment.

Someone asked me that when I was a child, I’ll never remember who, but they said “will you regret that when you’re dead?” I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

I’ve been thinking about all the times that I’ve lashed out over twitter, or gotten angry about something someone did or did to me, and honestly I’m just kind of over it.

I am still irritated that I went through some of the stuff that I did, but I am over my anger about some of the stuff that I went through, and THAT thought process got me to thinking, “does that mean that I excuse the behavior or the words of the people that I was dealing with?”

I remember having this precise conversation with myself on the way to a Surrey Crew party one night, and I don’t think it does. I don’t think that being sorry you said something, erases the fact that you said it, or the harm that it caused someone else.

I’ve done a lot more harm causing than I’d like to admit, because I’d like to admit that I am perfect and that I get everything right the first time, but the truth is that the only thing I ever got right on the first try was the Lost Love Diaries Season 1 Episode 2.

I recorded the shit out of that, said exactly what I needed to say in one take, and I haven’t done that since my Radio Free Voice days, even then I was always messing up, and do you know why? Largely because I was always, ALWAYS, listening to how everyone else would do it differently.

In an effort to fit in, I’ve said or done things that this version of me would be absolutely disgusted with, and that is a terrible way to exist in any way at all.

You should have the right to be yourself, and to say what you really think, but you also have to be completely prepared for what happens when what you say or how you behave affects someone else.

You may not like the outcome, but it doesn’t change the fact that the outcome exists because of choices that you’ve made, and you have to deal with the result of your choices whether you like it or not, because the only other choice is to end your reality.

I don’t want to end my reality. I want to accept the responsibility for the actions of the person that came before me, because I am who I am because she existed. Because she lived in the same body I have now, the one that has grown taller, and wider, over the years. The body that has been tattooed, and marked by all the previous versions of me, as a reminder that they were here first. As a map to the center of our destiny, all and everything that my body has experienced up to this point is leading me towards the greatest adventure in the universe.

I don’t know what that adventure looks like, and I don’t know if it’s going to be on this planet or another universe all together, but I am in this moment exceedingly aware of how precious life is. How the affect that we have on others can last lifetimes.

What Donald Trump did in the United States of America the past four years did, was to shine a light on the fact that there are deeply unhappy people living in this universe, and as a way to deal with that unhappiness they are finding ways to deliberately cause pain and suffering to everyone around them.

While simultaniously calling it love and “training” for the “real” world. I hate to break it to you, but this “real world” trope doesn’t exist. Each and every single one of us is existing in our own entire galaxies and universes, colliding into each other a thousand times over causing ripples of love and drama and perfectly imbalanced consequences in a weird twisted measure I’ll never understand.

I don’t think that we’re supposed to understand the measurements of the universe. I don’t think that we’re supposed to be able to define every last thing on this planet and in our universes to a minute detail. I think that some things are meant to be explored when you’re ready, not necessarily when you want them.

We meet people, or we are introduced to people that we would never have met before or heard of for that matter, because of celebrity culture. Yes we obsess a little too much about our favorite Celebrities, and yes we question their every decision, and yes we absolutely hold them to a higher standard than we do ourselves, but that’s because we want to see them succeed.

We believe in them because they show us it can be done, and we want to hurt them because we love them so much, and we just want to ensure they understand us too, but that doesn’t mean that either or extreme is healthy.

Yes we are all wanting to hear our voices heard, and yes we all want to feel validated, but if we don’t look inside our hearts, or inside our souls, we’re not going to realize that we’re missing the best parts of ourselves.

Last night I had this absolute nightmare that someone had stolen my heart chakra, like actually ripped it out of my body, and the truth of it is, is that I let my heart get buried under so much anger and resentment that it just became too shadowed to be able to let the light in.

And justifiably so, because yes I’ve absolutely been through the worst of the worst, that you can go through as Brown woman, a Black woman, a mixed race woman, but I also survived.

So all that being said, to say, that as much as I want to think about whether or not I want to make myself proud when I am dead, I want to start thinking about whether or not my ancestors would be proud of me now that I am here.

When they looked forward did they see this girl sitting in the chaos trying to dissect and figure out all the fine fabrics of the universe, or would they want me out there in the world like Beyonce or Oprah or Michelle Obama, or would they accept me as I am in this moment?

I actually think that I’ve spent a lifetime asking myself that question, and at thirty-seven years old I honestly and truly don’t have a fucking answer. For some reason there is this stupid little law about how you can’t go back in time and change what was, because you’ll change what will or can become.

It’s an annoying pain in the ass to navigate, but I have done that, I have decided that on my own terms I am setting myself free from having to bother with answering that question.

I can only do what I can do, and control what I can control, and that’s whatever’s right in front of me, I don’t have to know all the angles, I just have to know that the person I am doesn’t want to be the person that was, or the person who could be. She just wants to be who she is, without any input or ideology from outside forces.

I know my experiences better than anyone in the universe, or the multi-verse for that matter, so here I am, being me, real and raw and open, and sometimes outright offensive to the senses, because I am the person that I need to have in this world. Whether you like it or not.

It’s me.

I’m insufferable.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall

Author: Devon J Hall

Devon J Hall is a thirty-seven-year-old Writer and Author from Surrey, British Columbia by way of Calgary Alberta. She lives with three cats, one mother and is addicted to coffee, cigarettes, and weed, not necessarily in that order.

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