Writing Books Will Change Your Life

I knew I’d Start Somewhere, I Just Did Not Know Where, I Had To Look Back To See The Growth

“Your past self is talking to you.”

“I Know.”

“Are you going to answer?”

“Am I alive?”

“Technically.”

“Then I’m Answering.”

This is a conversation I have with myself every single day. And what’s worse is that it’s the same conversation I have with all the people who thought they could kill me with their gangs, drugs, guns, and drama.

They failed. And so will you.

Death comes for everyone they say.

“Except me.” Say I, and why do you ask? Because I’ve spoken with Death, I know what’s out there, and sure it’s largely because I have the world’s most fucked up dreams when I’m stoned, but the truth of it is that I just have no interest in death.

Change yes, but not death, and why do you ask? Because it’s absolutely fascinating to sit back and look at your life and realize that you’re not insane. You’re a fucking genuis.

And sure, maybe you can’t fully quantify that genius-level amount of insanity that it takes to survive the shit you’ve been through, but maybe you also don’t have to.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that other people see you as a genuis, as long as you do, but I gotta say, the process of getting from “well this sucks,” to “holy shit, I did it, I pulled a Ruby/Lilith and survived that shit,” is fucking fascinating.

And then, to watch everyone around you realize that, what you mean by that is, you faced the devil and you won, it’s just…well someone once said delicious, but that was a teacher who wanted me to buy her a car if I proved to be as smart as she believed me to be, but didn’t want to support me when I needed her the most.

The fact that I remember it all is fascinating, but the fact that it hasn’t killed me is absolutely a miracle. I don’t know if it’s God, but probably, a few of them I’d say.

Someone told me recently to “go psycho,” and I’m like “but why? I already did that.”

Like I got it out of my system, so why do I need to do it again? To prove to other people that they are right and that I’m not worth fighting for? I think the fuck not says, Natalie Cox.

I know that I’m not 100% sane, but I also know that the only reason I’m not sane is that I spent years being sane, that when I finally lost my shit, I opened a door I couldn’t close.

I remember being in the hospital and being terrified in Vancouver, no one knew where I was, my phone had been turned off by the cops who showed up to help me, and I was actually for the first time in my entire life 100% untraceable.

I’d never been off the grid before, not since we moved to BC, everywhere I went someone always knew where I was, but on this day I was 100% alone, surrounded by cops and doctors and I had a choice.

“Stay calm, or let lose because this is your only chance to release it all,” and so I did. I was already being strapped to a bed so what the fuck did I care? I was safe and protected by doctors and nurses, and I knew that by “losing my shit,” I wouldn’t have held onto it anymore.

So I let it out. I screamed, I trashed against the bed, I yelled, I swore, I said all the fucking things I needed to say, to men and women who weren’t even in the room, because I knew it was going to be my only chance to get it out, before I’d have to return to the world, and fully embrace being The Loud Mouth Brown Girl.

Over the last five or six years I’ve been telling my story through the website, and through this platform, putting it all out there, trying to make sense of it all, deleting and rewriting, changing the puzzle pieces until the actual truth could come out and I don’t know if it has 100% but I’ve tried my best.

I’ve been encouraged by so many writers from around the globe, not just by their comments, but by their own sharing of their own stories of struggle and success.

Artists and teachers from around the universes saved my life, and a psychiatrist might say that’s insane, I’ll just tell them to go watch Transformers.

Every story I’ve ever heard, read or listened to, saw in painting or in drawing, in theatre or on the film sets, has taught me how to survive, and now I’m supposed to be an authority on mental health, but only because I spent all this time looking at my life, nearly killing myself to prove that my only goal on this planet was to make it better.

Danielle Brigoli is known publically as the “cash me outside, girl.” But she’s so much more than that, she’s a survivor, a mentor, a teacher, a reminder that it’s super easy to get famous, but in order to accept that fame you have to be willing to sacrifice for it.

She’s a girl who had serious anger issues and became a woman who turned that pain into an empire in the making, but the cost of building that empire meant going through Dr. Phil, who was supposed to help her, but instead sent her to a place that destroyed her psyche, and made her feel like she wasn’t good enough.

When we talk about kids who are angry, we need to ask ourselves WHY they are angry, punishing them for being angry, as with what happened to Brigoli, or myself, isn’t going to make us weaker, it’s going to piss us off, and that’s when the truth comes out.

When we come to you for help, and you destroy us, even beyond what we’ve already been through, then we end up becoming creators, and we use those creations as weapons to destroy you.

BUT BUT BUT, when we do so, it’s because we’re following in the footsteps of all those who tell us that we’re not good enough to be ourselves because they’re terrified that the student has become the Master, and the Master has forgotten that they always have much to learn.

I’m always learning, and I hope and pray that I never stop, but the one thing that I’m learning today is that I’m a 2-time author, and I’ve been waiting for that since I was five years old.

Before I’m 40, and both books…are fucking amazing. They are really, really good writing, with few mistakes I’m sure, because everyone makes them, but they are really very good.

So thank you for buying, for reading, and for loving.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall