I really hope you don’t repost that video.

I should have been angry, outraged and shocked when 49 of my brothers and sisters were mowed down in a nightclub: that first, continuing and final bastion of LGBTQ safety.

I should have been angry, outraged and shocked when three assailants walked up to security and wiped 45 people in Istanbul this month.

I should have been mortified, when 23 people were gunned down, alarmingly close to home, in Dhaka.

I should have been dismayed to consider the non-stop killings of trans people, nearly everyone an act of murder on people of color: 20 in 2015, and the same in 2016.

I should have been dismayed in retrospect, when I say their names: Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Dante Parker, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Tony Robinson, Phillip White, Walter Scott, Alton Sterling and so many others that I’ve shamefully forgotten: names that become statistics of the constant, intentional and abhorrent elimination of black men and women in just the few years that I’ve been in America.

I’m not shocked because all of this has happened before. My body and mind, once stunned by the thought of a man being killed, now knows that a man’s about to die on video a minute and thirty-six seconds from now.

And then that video will loop over and over.

I don’t need to see this. I don’t want a system defined by exploitation, oppression and elimination of marginalized folks making money and media impressions off this torture.

I’m glad body cameras exist. I’m glad that video exists which may, I naïvely hope, bring murderers to justice.

But I don’t need video evidence to know that my black, sex-worker, trans, queer and POC brothers and sisters are dying. That’s been well established by now.

Every loop of that video makes the fog thicker, makes me more cynical, and warrants more loss of hope. It’s impossible to consider self-care, healing or protest when every channel is a barrage of death aimed at you, non-stop.

So, I really, really hope you don’t repost that video.