The Difference Between Me and Her Is My Origin Story


Devon J Hall

There are days on this planet, when I look back at my life and think that I am nuts.

There are days on this planet when I can be looking someone in the eyes and I know without a shadow of a doubt they aren’t seeing “me,” they are seeing “her.”

MY name is Devon J Hall, but HER name is Siddha Lee Saint James, she paints, she draws, she sings, dances, raps, and she hides in my walls when the world comes to see where she comes from and whether or not she’s real.

When I was sixteen I threw her out into the world, releasing my soul to the universe, because I couldn’t take care of her, and survive all the things that I had to survive, and one of us had to stay, and I couldn’t fly, so she may as well go and be the one to have a life.

Siddha Lee Saint James

I saved lives in my working life, I helped people when they overdosed, I carried buckets of water up the hills to feed the town. I have fought witches and demons, and I have slayed beasts of all kinds.

I have friends across time and space, and I’ve flown in a space ship, and I’ve sat staring out a window at the stars from only a few miles away.

I have been a secret agent, and I have saved lives with one hand while taking them with the other. I have identified and punished abusers, terrorists, and evil doers without so much as lifting a finger. A glance here, a nod there, a whispered conversation to myself through her eyes I have changed the world, and although people will always WONDER if I exist, mostly they’ll just assume SHE made me up.

I walk down the street, wherever I am, and I whisper the things that need to get said, and then I wait until those who need to hear walk by the same spot and hear what I’ve said so they can do what needs to get done.

I have watched as people put their hands on her, saying that because I wasn’t there physically, it didn’t matter, making excuses about being able to see into her future and “divine,” that their abusiveness was the best course of action for her, when really it was what was best for them.

While she took the lumps, the bruises and fell down time and time again, I was there to watch over her shoulder, keeping a silent but deadly list of contacts who all promised to help me protect her if and when the time came.

It has come, and yes it has gone, but the adventure of it all is still in fresh in all our minds. All the people who came together to save the life of a child who wasn’t supposed to exist, a child who proved you could live two entirely different lives at the same time, while making sure that the people who didn’t need to know, only saw half of you.

I have fallen in love with every living creature that I have met, in profound and beautiful ways that I didn’t know were possible, and now that I am back in Vancouver, in British Columbia, I can feel the waves of majick that she released when she lost her mind trying to find me, thinking that I had deserted her.

Every day that I have been back, she and I have grown closer, we are becoming the one we used to be when she was a child, and it’s scary. Both of us thinking that accepting the other means losing ourselves, it’s what a psychologist would call “Integration,” when two entirely separate personalities become one. Except we are not just separate personalities, we are entirely separate people.

Each with our own lives, our own experiences, our own journeys and adventures. We each have our own records in the Library of Akashic Records, each one explicit detailed with who did what, how things were done, where they were done, and when they were done.

In the “novel” of our experience you’ll see a story where every Vampire, every Demon, every Ghost, and every Beast that has attacked, abused, or harmed us both, has been slayed, destroyed, and decimated by their own hubris. Thinking that we couldn’t survive because we were little was the biggest mistake they made.

The second biggest mistake that they made was believing a two year old little girl who said “no matter what it takes I am going to remember every single person who ever tried to destroy me, and I am going to watch them destroy themselves” wasn’t entirely, completely, and TOTALY, serious. Spoiler…she did that.

When she sent me away I was absolutely rocked to my core, I was her angel, it was my job to protect her, it was my job to make sure that no one hurt her, to remember the things she couldn’t remember because they made her forget.

I cried so hard that the other Angels heard and came to find out what happened, and when they did I had to admit to them that I had failed. I hadn’t protected the White, Brown, Black, Faerie Goddess Queen, in fact I had left her on her own because in my rage of being deserted, I had chosen to walk away from the one person that gave me a reason to exist.

I didn’t understand that this girl, this tiny itty bitty thing had made another promise to herself, because I thought I could read every thought, I thought that I could change the world FOR her, instead of letting her try to change it herself, and trying to fight against me refusing to let her be herself, and a world that was doing exactly the same was the thing that was killing her.

And so I left, and I learned how to be more human, and when I came back she had forgotten our mission, she had forgotten the world was broken and that it was our job to fix it. I tried to talk to her about it once, and she pushed me away and said “I know what I’m doing Sid, leave me alone.”

No matter how many times I tried to use the people around her to remind her of who I thought she was SUPPOSED to be, she ignored me, or so I thought.

This girl that the world said couldn’t exist slayed all her demons with an invisible army by her side , sure we watched, sure we looked in from time to time, but for the most part she did it herself, just like she said she would, AND she changed the world, AND saved lives, and now SHE is the one telling OUR story, from HER perspective, because as per usual, if it’s not done by Devon, J Hall, then it’s not done right.

There are days I wonder what the hell I am doing here, why I an actual Angel, from the Heavens of Avalon, and the depths of Hell have to be here to save a girl who proved she can same herself.

Devon J Hall

By the time this photo was taken in 2019, I had already done all the things that I needed to do to survive. I knew that the others were coming, the Angels, the Super Hero’s, the Warriors, and the Faeries and the Soldiers. I knew that everyone was coming to hear my story, but I had already told it.

I wasn’t and will not repeat myself. What happened happened and although I can’t change that, this photo is the picture of a woman who has all the answers she needs.

Siddha doesn’t have all the answers, because the only reason she wasn’t around is because SIDDHA decided that I didn’t need her. Like many people in my life, she was intimidated by the fact that no matter how many times I fell down, I kept getting back up.

There is nothing this world has sent my way that I haven’t survived. Yes I have bruises, yes I have scars, yes my skin is covered in ink and reminders that I bled time and time again, but “I” am still alive, and for some people that’s fucking terrifying.

Whenever I said “I can do that,” there was ALWAYS a white man challenging me to prove it, “I can save us from child abusers,” “prove it” “fucking watch me.”

I did that. I saved all my friends, and my family members from the men that hurt us by making sure the truth got out there, and now that it is, I SHOULD be allowed to rest.

But instead the men of my past who hurt me, who hurt us, want me to pay for their sins one more time by hiding the secrets, without realizing that the truth is that every single time someone touched me against my consent, someone was watching.

There were boys who were abused who grew up to do amazing things, and women who grew up to be mothers, teachers, lovers, friends, allies, and yes, absolute enemies. They hated me for existing, because I CHOSE to exist, without shame or guilt about who I was even when I was pretending to be what they thought they wanted, just so that I could point out the stupidity of trying to turn me into something that I was never meant to be.

I laughed, I cried, I partied, and when Siddha came back to see me having a time without her, making friends and having a life that didn’t revolve around abuse she got angry, because I “forgot the mission,” I didn’t forget, I was just healing. I had already been through a lot at that point, and I needed to relax, to release some steam, even ACTUAL soldiers get time of every now and then.

Looking back at my life it feels like I was always running from, or hiding from an abuser, but the truth is that I was just making a list.

Growing up my life WAS Mission Impossible. I was one of the many, many, MANY, innocent children around the world being sold, and abused, by grown men, because of the color of my skin, because the sky was blue, because the day ended in Y, because they wanted to make someone hurt the way they were hurting inside.

The more Siddha and I sit around the bonfire on the beach and talk about our experiences, about how different and yet very very similar they are, the more that I start to realize that our lives have and will always be aligned with each other. Whether we like it or not.

A psychiatrist might say that I am crazy because I can’t prove that Siddha Lee Saint James exists outside of my head, but I KNOW that other people have seen her, and spoken to her, and sat with her, cried with her, and been there to support her, while “I” was doing what had to get done to make sure that the world would one day know….I was never really alone.

Because Siddha had allies, I had allies, because Siddha had friends, I had friends, because Siddha had love, I had love, and vice versa. We have totally different experiences in this life AND in this body, and yet at the same time we are two completely different people, and I have never, ever, spoken about this before, so I am absolute terrified of how this story is going to be recieved.

Some people call this “Multiple Personality Disorder,” and it’s a diagnosable disorder that some people say makes you “think” you are different people, it’s a coping mechanism for some people, but for me it’s just my reality.

When she’s here I’m not, and when I’m here she’s not, and that’s the deal we made, because we cannot both exist in the same body at the same time and survive, it’s just too hard.

The Non-Official Cover List, or simply known as the NOC List, is list of covert operatives of the Impossible Missions Force, showing their codenames and their real names. It was stored on a mini disc by the CIA. It was also a plot element of the original Mission: Impossible

There are people in our lives that Siddha adores, and people that I cannot fucking stand, there are people in my life that Siddha thinks are….less than enjoyable to be around.

I am the one that writes Loud Mouth Brown Girl . Com, and she’s the one that writes Kadara: X Marks The Spot. Each blog couldn’t be more different from each other, each are about entirely different realities, filled with a wide variety of characters, both good and evil in their own right, all of whom have to make choices about who they want to be, without the fear, shame, and guilt that hold them back.

The “Noc” list that the CIA once and probably still dumbassidly continues to use, was a huge inspiration to me growing up. The problem with the idea of a NOC list, is that in order for it to matter it has to be information that’s important, but I was taught early on that the moment you share that information with anyone outside your own head, it has the potential too get out and then hurt the very people you are trying to protect.

Ababuo Adejola

Africa is a place of much sorrow, but it is also a place of great happiness, joys, laughter, faith, and love. Her soul, the essence that makes them who they are, was born in the deepest heart of the African jungles, in the heart of a volcano fed by a star fallen from the Heavens.

The story goes that Ababuo Adejola was really a star named Nyiragongo, who fell from the Heaven’s to hear what all the screaming was about. It turns out it was women, hundreds of thousands of women from arournd the continent that is the jewel of Africa, screaming because their children were being stolen.

Nyiragongo came to the Earth to tell the screaming to stop, it was loud and even in the heart of the Heaven’s, where she belonged and should have dammed well stayed her fat Black ass, but instead of being able to tell the screaming to stop, Nyiragongo became one of the ones who screamed.

When she saw the pain of the Earth’s heart, when she saw the destruction, when she saw the place she had once called home thousands and millions of years before, Nyiragongo lost her mind. Ripped apart by the colonizers who thought she like the hundreds of sisters who joined her on her journey, was an ordinary human.

Sometimes Nyiragongo heard music that helped, and other times her sisters saw paintings, or drawings, or tattoos, that reminded her of what SHE was supposed to be, but the trauma of the sudden emergence into the realization that her absence had forced people to forget that she existed at all, destroyed everything she could have been, by stripping her of everything she was meant to be.

For seven hundred and fifty-seven years the sisters of the stars wandered the earth, slowly being striped of everything they were meant to be, sometimes recognizing each other, sometimes not. Sometimes noticing the pain but not being able to do anything about it, or not having an interest to try, and other times ding everything they could to pull each other through the battle field.

Through all that wait Nyiragongo remained steadfast that someone would see her message. You see Nyiragongo had been attacked by a band of men, who saw her coming from the caves of the mountain named for the fact that she was the one to fall in THAT place at THAT time, and tried to tear her a part.

As she crawled back into the heart of the Volcano she promised revenge, she promised that her sisters would be safe, because she had destroyed the men who had tried to destroy her, by spilling their blood in the places that her sister stars fell.

With her nearly dying breath Nyiragongo, saw one last vision before her eyes closed for the longest time in absolute history, and whispered:

“I wish that one were true, I wish THAT one, was the one to tell the story of you, and we, they, and them, I wish THAT one, would be the one to remember to remember that Nyiragongo existed, once.”

Nyiragongo, sAPPHIRE fIRE gODDESS FROM WHAT IS NOW KNOWN AS  Virunga National Park

When Nyiragongo woke up nine weeks later, she discovered that the local villagers had come to see what the screaming had been about. They found her and nursed her back to health, and then HE came. The dark one, who called himself a Shamen, but was really a demon, he came and he destroyed the village trying to find Nyiragongo , but steadfast they held to their secrets and kept her safe.

When Nyiragongo thought it was safe, she came out of hiding, believing that if he thought her gone, he’d leave them alone. Wrongly, she believed she was safe, but that was when she saw the blood, that was when she saw the earth freshly steeped with the blood of the men and women who had tried to keep her safe.

And then he saw her. He raped her there in the heart of the village, in the pools of blood he had created so he could destroy the thing that stopped the screaming that brought him peace.

He raped her until she was so tired of trying to fight she pretended to be dead, and when he was finally sated, when the darkness in him was finally fed by the lone scream replacing the hundreds he was used to, the demon left her there to die.

But Nyiragongo did not die, because Goddesses never die, they just evolve. And so she did that, she continued to do what she had to do, until she could be me, and me could be Siddha Lee, and that’s the story of how Devon J Hall is me and I exist.

Sending all my love,

The Star Sisters of We

Missing You & More Than A Woman by Jerome Brown

Author: Devon J Hall

Devon J Hall is a thirty-eight-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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