I Don't Want To Talk About It
I am not good at talking about death. My mind and spirit do not process it well, and I find it hard to cope with. Honestly, I do not even know where to start. I have been heavily avoiding social media for the last week because the last thing I have the emotional capacity for is this.
I don't want to think about, let alone discuss the prevalent problem of police brutality against black bodies in this country. I don't want to think about how a man was killed while sitting in a car with his girl friend and her 4 year old daughter. I don't want to think about how another man was killed while being restrained on the ground after being arrested for selling CD's. I don't want to think about the countless number of graves that hold black folks who have been murdered because of a toxic and brutal ideology of racism which runs prevalent in this country. I most certainly don't want to think about how at any given moment, my own skin can fall victim to this same ideology.
I have been avoiding social media, and by default, this conversation for about a week now. For a week, I have been sitting in my thoughts and trying to sort them to make sense of all that I feel. Still, I am unable to do so. I don't really know what to say...except that I am so tired. I am angry. I am sad. But mostly, I am scared. Terrified, to be exact. It terrifies me that I am still alive. To be black and still alive is terrifying because at any moment your skin may fall victim to the inherently racist nature of this system. So, as I write, I am both fearful and exhausted. I do not know how to protect my people....I don't know how to protect myself.
So, it is with fearful conviction that I ask the question: How do I create change? How do WE create change? To be honest, I do not know. I don't condone or support violent retaliation. I don't support passivity, either. But, I am grateful for those who are on the front lines, creating visibility and voice for our communities and this prevalent issue.
I don't have an answer as to what we do from here. I feel suffocated. I feel lost. I feel helpless. So, all I can hope is that all of the protesting, demonstrating, talking, and writing can force change. I hope it can all bring about a change so drastic, that people who look like me do not feel the frigid feeling of wasted life when our bodies have fallen sacrifice to the God of hatred.
Addendum: This post has taken me two weeks to write. It sat as a draft, unfinished and timid, for several days before I could muster up the emotional energy to finish it. As I said, I am not good at talking about death...but I felt that this post needed to be written, for catharsis. Thank you for your empathy and your patience with me, as I spill myself out onto this webpage.