On A Ledge, Feeling Completely Alone, because I Can’t Trust The Past and I Don’t Know The Future
I know that with where I am going it’s time to accept that certain people will never be a part of my future, but that’s a really terrifying reality. Trauma bonding is absolutely real and it hurts. It hurts in a way that only a physical scar can compare to because these people – even if some of them did eventually become abusers – were people that are such a deeply ingrained part of my past.at most
In some cases, I’ve known some of them for twenty years, even though memory blocks, hypnosis, and abuse forced us to forget that we knew each other. The last major abuse and my coming out with my story brought up a host of memories for a variety of people, and me, in particular, telling my story opened up an entire page of shit that I don’t think a lot of people were prepared to deal with.
I don’t think there’s been a scientific case of abuse like this in a very long time, and I think that with me coming forward I burned bridges I didn’t mean to, but if burning bridges is the only way to survive, then baby go ahead and do it, right?
People have come to me recently, in the streets, to nod, to apologize, to tell me they didn’t know how bad it was, to tell me they don’t think I’m a rat, but it doesn’t feel like knowing now changes much for me? You still put shit on my name, you still called me names, you still said I was a rat when I first came out like you had conversations about me being murdered…did you think I wouldn’t find out?
I told y’all when I started this journey I set about making sure that I and mine were protected first, and I did that, and now many of the people who set me up to die, want to have an accord with me so that they don’t go to prison or die, and I’m like The Scorpion King in the second Mummy film…”why?“
It’s not that I don’t think some people deserve a second chance but I have legit used this blog to save lives, the lives of people who had my back even when it looked like they didn’t. The story of what happened to all of us is a “sons of anarchy” style film series and it’s mostly disgusting cases of children being abused and then growing up and trying to find ways to survive it all.
We are many and we are not all Indigenous, but we’re not all Black, and we’re not all white, and yet each of us is trying to figure out how best to move forward and I’m stuck in the middle. I don’t want to leave people behind as I move forward and grow more as a writer, but I also don’t want to bring people with me who are just going to turn their backs on me again, and right now I can’t quite figure out who is who.
There are people who support LMBG now, because they just found out about it and they like what I’m doing, they don’t have ulterior motives, and even if they did, there’s nothing here for them, for the kinds of people who will let me die, to keep their houses warm.
I’m just not that person anymore. I’m not looking at everyone with an eye of “I trust you,” I’m looking at folks with an eye of “yup I see you.” Without comment on how I feel about what I see, because honestly, I’m just too tired to call bullshit when I see it, maybe I always have been, but at least I know what I know, and I know that no matter what happens next, I don’t have to feel guilty for moving forward with my life.
I’ve worked really hard to get where I am right now, and it again may not look like much to some, but it’s absolutely everything to me. I know that I’m not exactly the poster child for perfect happiness, but I’m still not trying to be. I want people to be okay with the fact that healing is messy, pussy and gross, and yucky, and that it’s tough and hard and that’s what makes the healed wound so much stronger.
Our muscles tear apart when we work out, and that’s why it hurts, but the time we work out after that, it hurts a lot less, and then less, and less, and eventually the stretches don’t hurt at all, because you’ve elevated yourself beyond pain. That’s what I’m trying to get to, but in order for that to happen, I gotta let this dead weight go.
A twenty-three-year-old Singer died this week, I don’t know his name, just that he was famous, or about to be, and that he was on his way to a show when he died. I’ve spent the last five or six years waiting for the people of my past to get the point. I don’t care about gang lines anymore, I don’t care about colors or tribes or cults or any of that bullshit. What I care about is that when I was a child, millions of children around Canada were being sexually assaulted, and we’re only now finding out about it, 30-plus years later.
What I care about is that when we were teens, a globally famous sexual predator, with access to the Dali fucking Lama, I might add, raped women and children for the better part of 30 years and just like Robert Kelly, no one’s talking about it, because I’m not famous enough for our stories to matter.
Because we’re not famous or successful or white enough, for our stories to matter.
Black. Brown. Indigenous. Asian. Jewish. Chinese. Iranian. Palestinian. CHILDREN. ARE NOT TO BE USED TO FIGHT THE WARS OF ADULTS ANY LONGER. That’s the mantra of Loud Mouth Brown Girl. From here on out. I used to think that it was just enough to fight for the kids in Surrey BC, in North Delta, but the problem is that we have guests and visitors from around the world who come – who came to this website to hear OUR stories, and they are actually listening.
“They buy the books, they buy the swag, they say that the lessons of the past of Surrey Crew, brought healing to their minds and hearts, so how do we as a group of writers, from around the world, do any less than that?“
Loud Mouth Brown Girl stands up for little kids, and big kids, who have survived childhood sexual abuse and decided to fight back by learning to tell their stories so that it never happens again. If you want to be a part of that, then we have an accord. If you don’t, then you support pedophiles, and nothing you say matters.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall
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