Request for Help From Your Favorite Mixed-Race Loud Mouth Brown Girl
Wiped Out, Broken Down, Still Hoping for Better
Today I found out that my brother is on a job and has spent the last two nights sleeping in his small, ice-cold car because he couldn’t afford any more nights at the motel.
That’s the problem with his job, it pays well, but he’s often gone from home for long periods of time and while he’s gone he has to carry his own expenses, so he never has the chance to save.
My little brother has always been the responsible one, and I feel that, because he’s always — almost always anyways, had to take care of himself.
My mom was busy trying to raise two mixed-race Black kids, who were obviously darker skinned than our white counterparts, while avoiding my abusive ex-stepfather, and trying to give us a home that was safe.
Mom didn’t “fail” persay, but I got abused a lot while she was at work, and sometimes even when she was home sleeping at night. So, I was a handful, constantly acting out and misbehaving because I didn’t know how to remember what happened to me long enough to tell anyone.
My superpower is my ability to forget when I am traumatized, but it’s also a curse because it means I don’t remember until it’s too late to do something about it. I don’t know if anyone else has ever experienced this, but I do know it’s made it very hard to live.
I was supposed to be very smart, at least to my mind. I thought I knew everything because I’d been raped before I was ten and so I was convinced that I knew everything, but I didn’t know how to be around people who hadn’t been raped very well.
I wasn’t good with boundaries or setting myself up for success because I was stressed literally all the time. Partially from trying not to break down and partially from trying to just find a way to co-exist with other humans.
Music helped but I didn’t get my first cd player until I was sixteen, so I remember stealing someone else’s tape just so I could have music because it blocked out all the noise.
I was thirty-nine when I discovered that I might be autistic and that the reason it went so long without being diagnosed is that I had so many symptoms of trauma they might have covered the symptoms of autism.
The first time I heard the term “autistic” I was about twelve years old volunteering at a local community park organization that provided day camp for kids.
There was a young girl there who was quite autistic, which I was really concerned about because she didn’t function the way the other kids did I was only 12, but I was supposed to be her partner. To take care of her, I didn’t even know how to take care of myself and she was as they say “low functioning,” though I don’t think that’s the right term, it’s the only word I know to describe how…different she was.
She was beautiful and kind, silly, and funny, but she also had severe ADHD and struggled to stay in one place for too long, which I think was frustrating, but also scary because she was constantly running off, and again, I was only 12.
It’s hard to have a young person tell another young person their age, what to do. The responsibility of taking care of other humans isn’t one I’ve ever been good at, because I’ve been too busy trying to find ways to protect myself.
I don’t know why I’m writing this except to say that my brother slept in his fucking car and I can’t send him any money to help him out because I’m a friggen low-budget content creator. And while I’m doing the best I can there’s only so much money to go around during a pandemic and very little of it is coming my way.
I can see why. I can see precisely where my life got thrown off track, but no one else believes me. They’d rather think I’m lying and making it up for attention, or because I’m crazy because then they don’t have to face the reality that true evil exists.
No one wants to know about the grown men who tortured and raped little boys and girls, no one wants to believe that cults exist, or that they do heinous evil shit in the name of money and power.
No one wants to believe me because it’s easier not to, and so right now I’m in a state of “okay God, I’m tired, your turn.” Because at the end of the day, if I made it this far, I know I need to conserve energy for what's coming next, but it doesn’t feel very good.
It doesn’t feel like laying the foundation of my future is helpful right now, it feels frustrating, scary, isolating, and terrifying to think that I might fail and not take this LMBG thing to where it needs to go, and I’m not sure always when the right time to ask for help is, but I’m asking now.
I have a t-shirt line and a book store, if you head on over and grab yourself something nice while supporting a Black Creator, you could literally help change my life and the lives of my family members.
Thank you in advance,
Devon J Hall
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