I’m feeling pretty out of it today because for some reason there has been an ongoing undercurrent of racially charged interactions/statements floating directly around me this past week. Usually I’m contented with the perpetual feeling of hopelessness that carries with me in regard to racial/social enlightenment and people’s disregard for racial overtones that permeate through everyday life. This past week however, I have been bombarded by a cacophony of comments and questions that revolve around skin color and it’s not even the weekend yet.
I think the reason I’m writing today is directly related to talking about James Baldwin at work and really remembering why I wanted to be a writer.
Sometimes I just get tired. Tired of staying silent when things bother me because I don’t want to have to delve into another long, exhausting conversation about why **insert seemingly innocent racial slight** bothered me. Tired because even though I know said comment came out of a place of unknowing and not maliciousness, it’s still bothersome and a bit worrisome. I’m tired because I don’t want to be labeled (which I shouldn’t give a shit about) but I don’t want to be a push over either. I’m tired because I’m always nervous about posts like these being taken the wrong way or misinterpreted but also tired of caring so damn much. I’m allowed to feel these feelings, but it’s that strange pang of guilt that shouldn’t even be present that makes me uncomfortable to share thoughts like these. Guilt I’ll hurt feelings, but for some reason don’t worry about my own. Whatever, I felt compelled to share today. It’s been quite some time since I did so. These feelings have been building up for a while and if I don’t write it out I fear I will explode. What with what’s been happening with the debates, this poor kid who was arrested for building a freaking clock, and the constant injustices done everyday to people of color, it’s hard not to be on edge. I am not ashamed of that and need to stop being such a patsy.
Sigh. I just want to read a James Baldwin essay, curl up into a ball, and listen to Sade.