Loud Mouth Brown Girl

I was twenty-three years old, and I had just started writing online after a few long years of not. I was dating a man who was as abusive as possible, but managed to never leave a visible bruise, and when he did, would say, “She likes rough sex.” I didn’t even know what sex was.

I had a very cool group of friends who were from all over the place, who were adventurous, challenging, and beautiful. I was working at the church, but I had just started at a new church, and so I wasn’t writing as much, and I was locked into the idea that this was to be my future.

I hated working at that church. Not the people I was called to serve, but the folks in charge above Mom left something to be desired.

There was a lot of “We don’t do this,” and “We don’t do that.” And “do it this way if you want to survive,” often that meant going against my values to impress people who didn’t even like me. I was also drinking heavily, but not enough for it to be considered an addiction…yet.

The first time I got up at a meeting, I said I wasn’t there to fall in love. I was there to find hope, because I didn’t believe alcohol was the problem…I thought and continue to think it was the solution to decades worth of unaddressed abuse and trauma.

I didn’t tell my friends I was going to meetings; I didn’t ask them for support, I didn’t ask them to show up for me. Mainly because I didn’t know back then that I was allowed to ask for anything. I had been taught not to ask.

My reality was incredibly different back then. The Arab Spring had just risen up, and Egypt was at war with its own people, not for the first time.

No one was talking about Palestine; in fact, no one I knew believed or even knew that Palestine existed – it was not a topic of regular conversation around my tables.

I signed up for WordPress twenty years ago, and I don’t even remember my website.

MySpace still existed, and Facebook was only accessible to people on College and University campuses.

Everyone I knew was obsessed with The Craft, not just as an idea, a film, play or television show. But as a fucking existence, I was surrounded by practicing witches who had no concept of colonization or the idea that the practices they studied daily came from Black history.

Neither did I, for that matter.

I never questioned the whiteness that I was surrounded by. I had Black friends, but the majority of my friends, work, and party groups were white people. It felt comfortable and safe, because it was what I was used to, not because it was comfortable and safe.

Twenty years ago, my only focus was on finding someone to protect me, without actually looking for the kind of person I thought might want to get involved with the shit show that was my life.

Twenty years ago, T.H asked me, the first man to ever – and since – do so, if I wanted to have sex. I only said yes because he asked and he was there. I remember very little of the act itself. Neither is at fault, but mountains most certainly did not move.

Twenty years ago, I was a shell of a human being who had no concept of how much the spiritual world was affecting my waking life.

In many ways, I was just starting to understand, not who I wanted to be, or what I wanted out of life, but that I was allowed to have wants and needs.

To that point, I had been taught that what “I” wanted was unimportant to the men who foisted themselves upon me. What I needed did not matter to these grown men who thought and continue to think, the world works according to what they want, and no one else.

Today my life has changed exponentially. Not a single person from my past has more access to me than I allow. No one in my life is someone I don’t know how to trust, and no one in my world is someone with ulterior motives.

When I say “No,” and when I use the word “enough,” for the most part, I am heard. I am very much like a raw nerve; however, everything is too much sometimes, and I have to retreat or hide from the people I love the most – not because I don’t love them.

But because I am over-stimulated, and in need of peace. Calm and serenity have been hard-fought gifts, but I have them now, and I refuse to give them back.

I have a somewhat stable living environment now, and I am surrounded by people who are genuinely happy to have me around, who don’t think to themselves, “How can I fuck with Devon today?”

I didn’t even know that was possible. I’ve been through so much and, like so so so many of you, seen so much darkness.

I will never forget telling someone I thought they were proof it gets better. They turned around and told me (this was on Twitter ten years ago) that it doesn’t get better. You just learn to deal, they said.

I’m literal proof that’s not true. Not to brag, but what I have today is infinitely better than what I was offered as a child. Yes, I had to work, and fight, and battle to have what I have today; I had to ask for help, I had to reach out, and I had to fight my instincts to duck and hide, but we did it, friends.

I wouldn’t even be here today if not for you. The readers, fans, friends, allies, watchers, naysayers, and supporters! All the people that read, and continue to read this blog, are why I am here today. You being here to catch me when I fell – and fell HARD – is the reason I have my life today.

That’s so weird.

Remember at the end of The Pelican Brief, the news comes out, and she’s in her garden sipping tea? Yeah, it’s that. I’m in my garden sipping tea, but also…I did it. I survived gangs, cults, rapists, and abusive tattoo artists to get where I am today.

And no, it doesn’t glitter, and it’s not perfect, but it’s fucking mine, and I am most certainly proud to say I am here.

So thanks, friends.

Thanks for being with me for twenty years, thank you for being my launching pad #WordPress, thank you for being a safe space for women and children to share their stories and show the world that it can be done.

But I’m not done.

More than twenty years ago, I met a man in a chat called “The Bedroom.” His name was WARDEN. He helped me understand the language of coding and taught me to build my first-ever website.

Then there was Professor Charles Bivona, who helped me find my voice. Mia, who helped me believe in myself. Yokalli, who asked me not to die and is a part of the reason I’m still alive. Barrie Hall, who taught me to role-play and create characters. Spyc0, BreakBeatJunkie, Danny Danitili0n, and OhGeisty, and sooooo many others who are the reason I’m alive today. I DIDN’T FORGET YOU SAM! I’m just leaving the best for last…ish.

If I gave you a full list, you would DEFINITELY look at me sideways, but it’s very long.

I have in all my years, never felt as loved, protected, and wanted as I do today. It’s not because I survived rape; it’s not because the universe finally decided to give me a break (Trust me on that one!); it’s because EVERYTHING ends…even the bad stuff.

I know how hard it is in the darkness. I know how scary it can be when you think the world hates you. But I ALSO know if you give up, if you walk away, you lose out on the opportunity to win.

True, some battles aren’t worth fighting for. But the battle for your life? You only win that when YOU decide to be the deciding factor.

That’s what I’ve learned in 20 years. Here’s to twenty more @WordPress. I can’t see what we create together.

Sending all my love,

XOXO

Devon J Hall, The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl