Exhaustion. That’s what comes to mind. There is this James Baldwin quote that says To be black and conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage.” I understand that what he said was a product of his perspective and the lens through which he sees the world…but, for me and me only, I’m just tired.
I’m tired of being cornered into crafting arguments on message boards with strangers as well as Facebook threads against people whom I had considered friends.
I’m tired of taking extra pains to assuage whatever randomized roulette of fear may be lurking inside the heads of white people just so that their panic doesn’t get me killed.
I’m tired of waking up to find my world just that much more frightening via the, what must now be considered, ISIS-style execution videos starring aggressors whom my government tells me is operating in the interests of my safety
I’m tired of having the margins of my life written and dictated by those who do not see my humanity but see me as a creature of immense strength and invulnerability.
I’m tired of having to quiet my longing for a son because I know that, just because of what he looks like, his life could be measured, assessed, and deemed expendable all within the time it takes to unholster a gun.
I’m tired of having to educate people who do not share this experience and who have the luxury of deciding when and how to process such tragedies. There is no space nor established time during which we are allowed to internalize and process this as a community entirely. By the time we think we have a handle on it, it happens again. And again. And again.
I’m just tired. Because another life is reduced to that of a rallying cry in an entirely avoidable tragedy with the offending party spirited away to the safety of administrative leave. While we, as a nation of brown and black people, are left to pick up the pieces that always seem to come up short when compared to what was broken.
Originally published at fukette.com.