I am not afraid – not really, but I am angry. I knew something was coming because I’d been looking over my shoulder, literally, for months.
I was waiting, silently feeling myself being stalked, knowing he was out there, but not strong enough, or aware enough to say the words.
Maybe he’s been in jail, maybe someone beat him into a coma, but for a few years, he wasn’t there. And then this year, he showed up in my bedroom while I was sleeping. “Don’t move a muscle.”
I heard him whisper, and just as quickly he was gone, and then I woke up the next morning and saw the door.
I was prepared for the VITEROL, I was prepared for the DARKNESS, I was prepared for the ATTACKS…I WASN’T prepared for how I would FEEL about the attacks. – Devon J Hall, Loud Mouth Brown Girl
He had broken my door. A few years before that, he stole a box of chairs, that my mom had bought at a store in Vancouver with her first paycheck at her new job. Then it was our cutlery, all of it.
And then on Friday morning, I saw this on my deck, which is directly over my left shoulder, the same shoulder that I’ve been looking over for the last few weeks.
This particular chair isn’t special. We got it at a set from K-Mart for $15.00 because she used her points to get it. It sits under her window because our cat Bella is super old, and this way it’s easier for her to get in and out of the house.
I haven’t moved that chair in two years. On Friday night I couldn’t sleep, it was well after midnight and I kept staring outside that window.
It was around 8:30 when I looked over my shoulder and saw the chair, the handle which had been in perfect condition on Thursday, bent out of place.
I knew it. I knew I had a stalker, and I knew I was being harassed, and I’m pissed. I’m pissed because when I told people they had me commited, they drugged me, and they did everything they could to discredit me, but he made a mistake. He thought, you thought, they thought, I would be afraid.
When you’re dealing with habitual abusers, eventually you stop being afraid. In fact, it was my mother that taught me to stop being afraid.
Every single day, women in particular, face abuses that people in the rest of the world make a deliberate and concentrated effort to ignore.
When we speak out we are called crazy, drugged, and placed in psychiatric wards where we can’t ask for help. Doctors and Nurses who are tired of mental health cases filled with people who treat people like crap, don’t really care about the patients in their care, they can’t, because they’re too fucking tired.
So we go unnoticed until we are murdered, and then suddenly EVERYONE cares.
“I was NEVER afraid he would HIT me. I KNEW he would hit ME. I was AFRAID he’d hurt my kids. THAT was the FINAL straw. Once he crossed THAT line, it was over for US. – Loud Mouth Mommy
I am documenting all of this on Twitter, and on this blog, so that it’s here so that not one person on this planet couldn’t say I didn’t speak out.
The cops came to check out the door, and they never came back again, they also didn’t respond when I tried to call them and tell them he’d been back after they left. The cops think I am crazy because of my medical file, but I know, and you know, exactly what you’re doing.
I grew up in a house filled with gangs, drugs, abuse, and trauma, and I am still living with the PTSD of it all. Even when my brain doesn’t know what’s up, my body does. My body completely knows. These last 3 weeks I’ve been going nuts, crying, sad, miserable, realizing that in very real ways my soul died, and coming to terms with my new reality.
I am not the person I used to be, and the more that I come into this new version of myself, the angrier I get, because I never wanted to be this person. I was never given a choice.
I’ve NEVER had any POWER, or any DESIRE to ACHIEVE it. Sire, I could SIMPLY drift AWAY NEVER to be SEEN again.-King Arthur
I didn’t want to be this person, I was forged by rape, torture, trauma, PTSD, anxiety, depression, isolation, gaslighting, and all the things that come with being a woman – specifically a Black Creole woman, in this country, on this planet.
I tell you this because I want you to know that I know, how this movie ends. I might live, and I might die, but one day or another, you’re going to get exactly what you have coming to you.
You aren’t special because you know how to break into someone’s house and destroy their things, you aren’t special because you know how to hunt a woman the way most healthy people hunt for food. You aren’t special because you know how to scare someone, or because you think you know how to scare someone because I have to tell you, I’m not afraid of you.
I have been through the wringer. I’ve been to Heaven, Hell, and places that humans don’t even have words for. I am not afraid of you, but I am very afraid for you.
Not because I have people, or because I’m protected, but because I know what it takes to twist a mind and turn it into something it wouldn’t be otherwise. I am sure you have your own traumas, I am sure you have your issues, but taking them out on my porch furniture isn’t going to solve your problems.
Personally, I think you’re a bit pathetic. I think it’s ridiculous and sad, that you don’t know how to regulate your emotions so that you don’t have a need to hurt other people. I think that you need serious therapy, and if this were any other situation I might offer to help.
But because this is me, and my life, and because you are clearly trying to send me a message, let me send one back. I will fight you until my last breath. You will not hear me scream, or cry, you will not see my fears, or my tears, you will get no gratification out of causing me harm, because I refuse you the right.
I have faced children more terrifying than you. I have had abusive parental figures, family members, teachers, school-mates, relationship partners, and friends. And each and every single one of them made me angrier, more vicious, and more protective, than the last.
Over the last few days, I’ve been seriously questioning my sanity, but then I saw the chair, and that confirmed for me everything I need to know. I am not crazy. You should have never let me know that. You should have never given me my power back by reminding me that I’m not insane.
Maybe you’re psychotic, maybe you don’t know what you’re doing, maybe you’re completely insane, but I don’t care. I have zero sympathies for you. When you’re reading this I want you to know that, to believe it with all that you have. I want you to understand, that I am going to wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. I am going to get married, I am going to have babies, I am going to do everything I have to do, to live the life that I deserve, and you’re welcome to exactly none of it.
If you want to destroy my life, you’re going to have to work a lot harder, than a broken deck chair.
See you on the battlefield bitch,
Devon J Hall