Loud Mouth Brown Girl

For the record, this is not going to be easy to read. I am giving you a chance to back away gently now, before I dig into the hard stuff, because this is my only place to express what was done to me.

Even If You Don’t Keep Reading, I Appreciate You Coming to Visit

Here we go.

The first time I was sexually assaulted (that I remember) happened while I was being baptized, in front of the entire congregation.

The second time I was sexually assaulted, I was barely four years old. The babysitter’s boyfriend chased me around the house, beat up his girlfriend, and then raped me in my own bed.

I’ve not been able to sleep properly in my own bed since.

He wasn’t the only man, or person, to violate my personal space in my bedrooms, or in my own bed; he was just the first of what would be many to come.

I grew up with my mom’s best friend at the time (and still to this day) being connected to one allegedly culty organization after another, including The Light Bringers, which gave birth to what would later become NXIVM.

I was one of the many kids targeted by KR, by many other men who abused girls, boys, and everyone in between, for their own amusement and pleasure.

There were rituals, there was abuse, there was torture, there were beatings, rape, brainwashing, drugs, and anything you needed to keep your eyes and mouth shut was given to you.

The threat of believing the largest biker gang in the world was a part of something so disgustingly insidious will keep your mouth shut, your head down, and your loyalty firm for more years than you’re willing to admit.

Learning the truth is heartbreaking. No, it wasn’t a group of one of the largest gangs in the world…it was just a group of disgusting old men, pretending to be what they thought was your worst fear.

Turns out, when you face your fears, men like L.A. remind you, some people don’t hurt little kids.

I got lucky.

Not because I lived, but because I am in a place today where I am healing. When I was in the church, no one knew directly what had happened to me, not even my mom in those years knew, or understood my anger. “I” didn’t even know where my anger came from.

I was brainwashed, drugged, and deluded into believing a reality that wasn’t true specifically because it was the only way to protect myself from recognizing the truth too soon.

When I did remember, when I did come forward, it wasn’t the doctors, the lawyers, the cops, or the “Healers” that believed, protected, and trusted me to tell my story…it was the people I was supposed to be afraid of.

It was D, A.N. It was M.R. and so many others, literally around the world (Thank you members of Anonymous), who gave me the space to protect myself, so I could tell my story on my terms.

Not everyone has that. Not everyone has hackers from around the world willing to protect the identities of your abusers, so that if anything happens, the world will end up knowing your story. I’ve never hidden the fact that I have honey pots around the world. That’s not news. I have nothing “new” to add; I’m merely re-introducing myself for those of you who just got here.

I was raised in a world that protected abusers, and hid the abuse so that it could continue, while punishing the victim by creating a database of information that says, she, he, they and or them, are “Crazy.”

Raise your hand if you are a “diagnosed Mental Health Patient,” who spent most of their childhood in and out of hospitals with doctors every time you got sexually abused, doctors who tried to convince you it didn’t happen, and gaslit you into believing you’re crazy because they fully believed you’d just “Forget.”

Because that was my childhood.

Every time I’d get abused, I’d end up in a hospital with some doctor telling me it didn’t happen.

Until when I finally started to remember, and the only people to believe me, were those same bikers I was raised to be terrified of.

Without them, I’d absolutely be dead today. Are they “all” good guys? Fuck no, some guys absolutely love the idea of being what they are, and they live that lifestyle to it’s full racist absolute, but there are a few, some guys, who wear the gear, and who protect kids…no no matter what.

I’m alive because of those guys. Because of soldiers, because an entire community of people gathered together to help me tell my story and build this site. I have views from all over the world, even on days when I am not writing.

I remember W.R’s son telling another boy that he wanted to see that boy “Rape her until she bleeds.” I was seven years old, and it happened in my bedroom. I don’t know why neither of us asked for help or said anything to the adults, but I do know I was more afraid of that man’s father than I’ve ever been of anyone else in my entire life.

Making the list, showing my friends who hurt me, and watching as people ripped my story apart over the years, looking for any of the tiniest discrepancies, is fucking difficult.

Losing your community, starting over again with literally nothing, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but for the first time in my actual autonomous life, I do not have “Nothing.”

I have Loud Mouth Brown Girl, I have a sisterhood of supporters from around the globe, and every single day, I am meeting more and more family members who are genuinely connected to my own bloodline.

I also have a real, tangible connection with folks I never would have met if I hadn’t come forward with my story. People are telling me that I am a part of their healing journey and that I have helped them understand their loved ones on completely different levels.

I never thought that would really matter to me, because when I came forward, I was throwing anchors out into the world, hoping anything would land long enough to keep myself alive. That was my first and only goal with this website; that was my why.

But over the years, things have changed. I haven’t been as forward on social media with anti-racism work as I think I need to be. Many folks will say my work is all about anti-racism, but for me, it’s not enough.

I was raised to believe that the church was the only path to God. Even as I fought against the conditioning, I got a tattoo of a Witch and a cat and a pumpkin on my left forearm, I got a tattoo of a bare naked angel holding a kitten on my right shoulder, like I have not made it difficult to see I am allllllllllll about the occult.

I don’t follow the occult purely because I believe it’ll piss off God. I practice what I choose to believe in, because it makes my soul feel whole. It feeds my heart to be of service when I am able, to share my platform with those who need it, is the equivalent of providing a plate of food for someone in hunger if I am able.

I have learned that many people will try to use my beliefs against me. I’ve heard everything from “What has your Goddess done for you?” To “You’re going to Hell for being a witch in a church,” I do not care.

The white man’s path to Heaven is not one I am interested in taking. I have my own path, and I know that it’s going to be difficult and filled with slips and slides. I know that I may spend a great deal of time screaming, “HEY LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME FOCUS ON WHAT I AM DOING…” without getting a single response. But none of that is going to stop me from telling the world that what was done to me, and the children of North Delta and Surrey, British Columbia, is not, was not, and will never be okay.

I wouldn’t and don’t know if I am “Protected,” but I know that the protection others have offered me in the past has given me the freedom to build the very first blog about mental health, childhood sexual trauma, and healing, written by a Black and Biracial Self-Published author in Canada. Maybe that’s not a big deal to you, but then that’s okay. We have different dreams.

I do know that right now who I am today is a beautiful, powerful, strong, wise person, who has been through some shit, and found their way out on the other side. I have a great group of truly supportive friends who love me at any size, and don’t mind when I forget, sometimes it’s not all about me.

No, I don’t believe Jesus saved me. I do believe that Jesus has been beside me however, my entire life. But that’s a story for another day.

I’m so beyond grateful for what the universe has provided. My only request is that may I be worthy.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall, The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl