In my life, I don’t often get the chance to make as many choices as I would like. Right now I’m in a situation that is not of my own making alone, and because of that my options are limited.

I am going to try one more time to go back and find and capture the cats, and clean the apartment, but I don’t know if I am going to be able to finish the job to my standards, because of my physical and emotional well being and that kills me. I feel like a complete and total failure.

At the beginning of this website, I told y’all I was not well. I knew I was sick, I didn’t know how sick I was. I think people around me tried to tell me, but I think I was too far gone to hear, and by the time I asked for help – again – it was too late.

Now I’m stuck. There is a part of me that thinks, “you can turn this around DEvon, you can use it for inspiration and go on and do great things,” but because I wasn’t smart enough to catch the cats before it was too late, there is a deeper part of me that thinks I don’t deserve to be happy.

I let myself get out of control, I let my life get out of control. I spiraled downwards and I couldn’t climb back up fast enough to make the changes I needed to make so I didn’t lose my home. I take 100% percent responsibility for the fact that trauma made me sick.

Too sick to live, but I promised authenticity with this blog, and I guess as much as I have to swallow the truth, I also have to share it too.

I am not a mental health “guru,” I am a mental health patient detailing and dictating my experience to my computer so that the entire world has the ability to judge me if people choose to do such a thing. It hurts.

It hurts not being on the high spectrum of content creators who are killing it at the game. It hurts to know I’ve been writing for 20 years and only released two books, it hurts to know that so much of my life has been stolen by people who used their chaos to hurt me.

Like all people who were traumatized, it started with my father not being around and continued with a series of abusive men that only got more abusive as I got older.

My life is a complete wreck and this is part of my story that they would call “rock bottom.” I’m here.

I’m at rock bottom, and I don’t know how to climb upwards again. I don’t know where I am supposed to go. Yesterday I saw a horoscope that said I needed to embrace what is happening to me instead of running from it because this might be the deciding factor in whether or not my dreams come true.

That’s a scary thing to read with all this going on in my life and I really don’t have anyone to talk to about all of this. Everyone I do talk to is proud of me for looking at the positives but honestly, it’s all a lie.

Right now I just feel like I’ve lost my sense of home, yes my home was a mess, but it was my mess and it was my home, this place is foreign to me and there’s no guarantee that I’ll get to go back to Surrey and right now I really want to.

Vancouver is bigger, more dangerous, and filled with people I don’t know. After decades of trauma, it’s easy to understand why change would be so difficult for me for anyone, in my position.

But that doesn’t make change easier to swallow. I think I just need to have a lot of hugs and right now there aren’t any. I didn’t have a choice when we moved to BC, I wasn’t given a choice at any of the times I was raped, I have never had many choices and that just feels particularly cruel.

I think back to Persephone, and how she wasn’t released from Hades’ because she looked back, and it hit me the other night, the reason that Persephone keeps looking back is that even though she might hate Hades for keeping her away from her family, in her darkest moments she found light, she found hope, and she might be a tiny bit afraid of what the future holds without Hades, having been with him so long.

That’s how I feel about leaving Surrey. I hated it there, really and truly, it was fucking miserable, and even though I had moments of happiness, it wasn’t enough for me to want to stay there, but I don’t want to be in this shelter either.

I want the big fancy apartment, the money that brings stability and security, and I want to know that when I go to sleep at night it’s in a home I worked hard for and earned instead of something that was given to me because I’m too traumatized to function.

I’m so tired y’all. I have been saying this for years and now here I am at the bottom of the economic barrel, wondering if I am going to have enough money to go and find my cats tomorrow. The poor innocent cats who didn’t do anything wrong but are now suffering because of my sickness.

I want to curl up and cry and have someone hug me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, but there’s no one I trust to be that vulnerable with, so instead, I tell all of you because at least I can pretend you’re listening.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall

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