Working to Heal For Uninhibited Grieving

… I am but 21 and I am tired of fighting. Or maybe I’ve discovered that fighting now, at least at this point for my well-being, resides in healing. Providing self-care and healing of community, especially as black/brown/queer people, is revolutionary within itself. I’ve noticed that many have of us have internalized ideas from that we don’t deserve to be well taken of, so we accept it. We have grown so accustomed to being in battle, we forget to create peace with ourselves, our bodies and spirits. When you’re used to sacrifice, self-care seems like a luxury. What a myth. How can you fight as a fraction of a person? That is not sustainable. And by default, our if all of our frontline fighters do not take care of themselves/ everyone in the movement, do not self-care, our movements can never sustain.

After suns sets, I walk home with knuckles clenched around knives, hoping to never have to use it, but prepared for battle always. A young black queer girl that experiences masculine and feminine, I am danger. (Though simply being a women in this puts in my danger, seeing as how this society is not s safe one for women.) I walk along side uproar, in step with violence, and must heal the splintered ends of my being.

More than anything, I have to heal myself from brutality taken out against me from someone who looked liked Micheal Brown, who maybe smelled and walked and talked like Micheal Brown. Possibly with similar interests, goals and desires. The same brown glazed skin and a familiar build, nearly the same age when he trespassing against my spirit. I am still unpacking how to fight for someone who resembles someone who has fought against me.

For too long I have excused the riot against my body caused by a black man I (thought) knew and trusted and loved. I have allowed the cards stacked against him to be reason enough for them to tumble down on me, and for years I have graciously accepted them. Reading and learning and negotiating and understanding his healing. As I know that being a a black person who is dressed in masculinity is a strange and difficult way that is to exist in this world. As a result, I traded his salvation for my own. And now it’s time to reclaim it.

I want to be fully present in the cause, and at this moment, I realize I am. It’s taken me years to stop trying to understand and empathize my way out his forsaken behavior. There is no rhetoric of oppression nor school of thought enough to take excuse any of it. I’ve had to pause my attendance of meetings, protests and marches, as I was preaching about the importance of healing and all things that I was not practicing myself. I also found that I was not ready for the work as it was only widening my schism of pain.

As a apart of my healing revolutionary process, I cannot actively welcome and invite more violence in my life right now. I’m working on an art project now. I have to do something that makes me feel whole, not empties me out further. It’s now what I can actively contribute at this point, now.

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